The Fallen One
by nycforme
Summary: Based on the film "You've Got Mail." Hermione runs an advice column for the daily prophet. An intriguing letter from a divorced man with a dark path spirals into an anonymous friendship that the witch did not think to be possible. Meanwhile, an odd friendship with Lucius Malfoy makes her question her values, her life, and her romantic interests in her pen-pal. Rated M for future.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! This is my first Lucius/Hermione story so I'm trying to take it slow, I'll be updating when inspiration strikes. If I feel like the response I'm getting is positive then I'll probably be more interested in continuing, for now this is just for fun!**

 **Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. The characters are Rowling's and the plotline is based off of Nora Ephron's "You've Got Mail" starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. I'm going to be referencing that film a lot so I highly suggest it if you would like to catch little references!**

Hermione Granger was quite proud of what she had made out of her life. She'd carved a pretty memorable path and had the awards, both literal and figurative, to show for all of the hard work she'd done for years. Headmistress McGonagall had assured her that her N.E.W.T.S. had been extraordinary and, to Hermione's embarrassment, had promised to use many of the young woman's essays as teaching examples for years to come. So she'd said goodbye to the place where some of the best years, and scariest moments, of her life had taken place and purchased a new flat.

"I really don't know what I would do without you all!" They were all sitting in her new flat then: Ginny, Harry, and Ron. A box of pizza sat open on the floor in front of them, she'd ordered from a muggle shop and picked it up before they'd come over, and were all sitting with their backs leaning against the piles of moving boxes—except for Ginny, who sat between Harry's legs with her back against his front and a satisfied grin on her face as he every so often tapped his fingers on the shining engagement ring on her finger.

"You'd have to move on your own, that's what, and my back would be grateful for that." Ron was half joking but Ginny tossed a piece of pepperoni at him for his sass which ignited a short-lived round of sibling bickering that Hermione hadn't really missed. Ginny had graduated with her only two weeks ago and in that short time of their returning the group had fallen into their same old rhythm of friendly banter that was familiar to them before the war.

"Well," Hermione huffed after she had finished her slice of pizza, "either way I really appreciate the help. This would be a nightmare project without magic, I really can't imagine how we ever managed without it."

"We didn't." Ron snorted through a mouthful of food.

"Charming, you prat." His sister spoke with true disgust and he opened his mouth to reveal his semi-chewed pizza.

"Ugh! What's wrong with you?" Again, they broke off into a spat and Hermione made resigned eye contact with an annoyed looking Harry. Contentment in his green eyes outshined the dark circles of exhaustion beneath them, but still he looked rather bothered by his fiancé squirming about in his lap to shove her fingers in Ron's face. Harry had kept her as updated as he could through letters about his position as an Auror for the ministry, most of what he said was too vague to be informative but she appreciated the gesture none the less. Ron had become an Auror as well, but he looked significantly less exhausted than his raven-haired counterpart and that thought truly worried Hermione.

"Alright, I've had enough! One of you will have to floo home if you can't even eat in peace!" Exasperation dripped heavy in her voice and she could feel herself growing flushed as both Weasleys stopped their argument to turn their glares onto her. Mumbled apologies met her ears and she nodded mutely as Harry quickly switched the topic to Ginny's upcoming try-out with the Harpies; it really did bother Hermione that she had to mother the group so much, her voices' likeness to Molly's when she had to scold the two of them bothered her more than their actual arguing did.

Eventually, Hermione was left alone in her brand new flat quite overwhelmed with the emptiness of the place. Harry and Ginny had returned to Grimmauld Place, where he had proposed only a week ago in the attic (which Ginny swore was a lot more romantic and a lot less dusty than it sounded) and they currently stayed until about ten at night when Ginny would head back to the Burrow to the great relief of her parents. They'd left with hugs and Harry's murmured, "We're all really proud of, 'Mione" had left her teary eyed. Ron had disappeared off to Diagon Alley to speak with George, the two had grown incredibly close in the past year and Ron was between living in the flat above George's shop and back home at the Burrow. All in all, Hermione was left feeling a tad lonelier than she had planned.

With the help of her friends, Hermione had all of the furniture set up in the quaint one bedroom, one bath flat. It was a rather pricey buy not far from the Ministry so it was on the smaller side, but cozy enough for her and Crookshanks to share. She'd purchased furniture in muggle London ("Why don't you just transfigure your school trunks?" Ron had complained as he helped Harry float her bedframe up the tight staircase of the building) and Ginny had charmed the walls in warm shades of creams, yellows, and whites. Hermione was rather pleased with how they'd gotten the place set up all in a day, but the amount of unpacking was rather daunting after a long day of moving so she turned instead to her work.

At nearly midnight, only eight hours before she had to head into the Daily Prophet in the morning, she found herself snuggled in her white coverlet with Crookshanks on the pillow beside her as Hermione read her mail. The Daily Prophet had asked her, upon Minerva's recommendation, to be in charge of their new advice column which they had granted Hermione permission to title. _Dear Jane_ was advertised and accepting letters when she had graduated and although Hermione felt a tad overwhelmed with being in charge of advice with what she insisted was very little life experience, the Daily Prophet had insisted that her logic-based thought process was just what the column needed.

Most of the letters were rather trite and predictable, Hermione felt herself formulating responses about dumping men who cheated, trying to make peace with mother-in-laws who nagged (had Fleur written that one?), and husbands who no longer noticed their wives ("a sit down talk is much more effective than attempting to ignite jealousy, no matter how wanton for attention you may be" she had written with a roll of her eyes), but there had been one that caught her attention and caused her to set it to the side. Hermione had no response to this person's letter quite yet and that was rather surprising to her as she realized if she had been speaking to this man she would have been left speechless. It was an incredibly personal letter, written with exceptional penmanship in navy blue ink, and Hermione set it to the side with a feeling of unease—perhaps tomorrow she would find words to answer that particular letter. With her responses filed and in her purse to be brought into the office in the morning, Hermione Granger set her head upon her pillow in her brand new, empty, eerily quiet flat, and attempted sleep as the words of the letter swam in her head:

 _Dear Miss Jane,_

 _The pleasure of this anonymous acquaintance is all mine, truly. Recently divorced and quite ready to begin anew in life I flesh out this question for you: What advice do you give a wizard who fought on the wrong side of the war as he steps into the role of bachelor for the first time in thirty years? Surely, my son would be of no help in this area…Yet still, the Ministry has made it possible for my kind to reestablish ourselves back into society, but the question of forgiveness is one that hangs heavily in my heart. Is it possible to rise from the ashes amongst those I myself have torched down for decades? Does a wizard who has committed so many sins deserve a chance at reacquainting himself with happiness? Are there witches who could accept a wizard who has_ [here the word "lost" was scratched through just once] _failed in all aspects of his long life? Tell me, Miss Jane, is there hope for a man who once sought to destroy the hope of an entire race of witches and wizards?_

 _Despairingly,_

 _The Fallen One_

No, Hermione told herself as she rolled over once more, she would not take this letter as an invitation to fix yet another person's life in any more detail than what was required of her. But still, the question burned in her head as she struggled into a fitful sleep, who could possibly have written this eloquent letter to her? And what on Earth could she answer? The Prophet had struck up this column in an attempt to raise the hope and spirits of its readers while also offering an outlet for support for those who had none others to turn to. What was she to say to a man who obviously spoke of hating muggleborns and fighting fiercely on the side of war she once told herself she had no sympathy for? Was there hope for this soul? Did she believe he deserved hope? The questions were endless and when she awoke in the morning with a loud yawn and thick stretch of her muscles, Hermione had a feeling the questions weren't going to flee and eventually her own stubbornness would force out an answer but for now she had to get herself to work.

 **Thanks for reading! I hope to hear from a few readers on what you're thinking and what you believe could be improved upon! Happy reading :)**


	2. The Meeting

**Author's Note: First encounter with Lucius Malfoy is in this chapter! I'm purposefully making Hermione seem a little detached from the happenings in her life post-war as I figured she'd still be recovering and trying to figure out her place in the wizarding world, especially with her new job!**

 **Enjoy!**

Owls carrying letters bombarded Hermione in both her office and home two days following her movement into her new flat. The Prophet had ran the first edition of the column with four of her responses taking up one solid page of the paper, to Hermione's great embarrassment it also included a small anonymous bio about the author/advice giver that she feared was too revealing about who she was but which Harry and Ginny continuously assured her was quite anonymous.

"It's not like it says 'bushy haired, muggleborn Gryffindor, war heroine who enjoys muggle romance novels and hot tea with too little sugar.' Besides, nobody would care even if they did know it was you—probably would boost interest in the whole thing, honestly!" Ginny's words were slightly less than reassuring but Harry's aggressive nodding in agreement had comforted her, slightly.

When she'd arrived to her office at the Prophet the day after the column had ran she could literally couldn't see her own desk from the amount of letters that had been deposited upon it. The column would run every three days and with print time included in that, Hermione had to be quite swift about making her selections. Meaning, that she spent nearly a full twenty four hours boarded up in her bedroom sifting through letters looking for the ones that seemed the most urgent. After tormenting herself for a full day, and not leaving her house and feeling like a lunatic for it, she finally chose four new letters to respond to. As well, as adding a note that took her positively ages to formulate but that she was rather proud of.

 _Dear Mr. Fallen One,_

 _I would like very much to be able to form an eloquent response to your thought provoking letter, however I feel as if I am in need of more information from you before being able to publish an adequate reply. If you are so inclined, please attach more information of your case to the following address:_

[Here Hermione had stamped her office information]

 _Hopefully awaiting what is sure to be a stirring answer,_

 _Miss Jane_

"You're bloody mental, 'Mione."

"Why's that, Ronald?" The two of them were in Flourish & Blotts, Ron leaned against the shelf as Hermione browsed the titles aimlessly. They had plans to meet Ginny and Harry for lunch but the couple had cancelled on account that Ginny had been called into the second round of Quidditch try-outs with the Holyhead Harpies, so Ron had agreed to accompany Hermione into her favorite store. The smell of ink settling into parchment perked her up as she let her fingers run across the spines of the hundreds of books. The sound of pages turning, ladders rolling, and quills scratching were noises Hermione acquainted with her personal heaven; not even Ron Weasley's nagging could bring her down. On top of Ginny's good news Hermione had all of her responses all written and ready to be printed; she was feeling quite carefree as she led her moping friend into the heart of the bookshop.

"You're up to your bloody nose in advice letters and you're here looking for new books."

"Shush, Ron!" Anxiously she twisted about to ensure nobody had been listening, satisfied that nobody seemed to have been, she ignored her friends rolling eyes as she continued to sort through the Best Seller's shelf for something she hadn't already read, "I've already finished this edition's letters; besides, I could do with some new magical reading material."

"Why? You sick of that Proud and Pretentious already? You've only read it a hundred and seventy times." He was taking the mickey out of her for fun, she knew, but still she couldn't let him get away with that horrible butchering of a classic title,

"It's _Pride and Prejudice_ , Ronald, and no I am not sick of it. I just wanted something new but nothing is garnering much interest. I need a new quill, too, remind of that."

"Sure." Pouting slightly, the ginger followed his friend down the aisles as she headed deeper and deeper into the shop. "Harry told me about your little Death Eater fan."

"What?" She was holding a rather heavy, leather bound edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ with additional annotations by Albus Dumbledore which included information about passages that had never before been written about, she had already read it in her final year at the school (his annotated version had been found in his office and the edition had been published post-mortem) but didn't own a copy yet. "Is twenty galleons ridiculous, do you think?"

"Yeah, course it is. Why didn't you tell me about your weirdo fan mail?" Still, she was getting paid well at the Prophet and working fairly hard recently. Surely, she deserved a little splurge, right?

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I think I'm going to get this. Here hold it." Shoving it into his outstretched arms she reached into her purse to count her galleons as he spoke too-loudly,

"You know, the weird divorced guy who wrote you? Harry said that Ginny told him you were all worked up over it but I said no way. 'Mione isn't gonna answer some Death Eater looking to you for forgiveness from all the muggleborns out there…are you?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I'm still waiting for his follow-up response. Besides, he may not even be a Death Eater, Ronald, you may just be paranoid."

"So what if I am? And anyway, what if he's dangerous? Don't forget a quill." Ron pointed to the selection of feathers as they made their way to the counter.

"Thanks," She chose a deep blue quill from her favorite brand as she continued, "If he was so dangerous, I don't believe he would sound so remorseful. What could he do anyways, it's anonymous. It's not like anyone out there really knows I'm me." There was nobody behind the counter but there was a man waiting in line as Hermione and Ron finally made their way to the front, and none too soon in Ron's opinion.

"Quite the contrary, Miss Granger, I think most of the wizarding world is more than aware of what the famous Hermione Granger has accomplished in her short life time." The voice made Hermione's blood run cold and out of the corner of her eye she could see Ron's face and ears turning beet red as Lucius Malfoy turned to face the pair. How they hadn't recognized the long blonde locks or striking walking cane before he had turned was beyond Hermione, she reckoned that her day had been going so well her mind was incapable of recognizing something so dampening as the presence of the elder Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" Ron's hiss nearly matched the low tones that the blonde had spoken in. Hermione could do nothing but stand in shock looking up at the tall man with utter surprise written upon her pale face, the book clutched so tightly to her chest that her knuckles had turned white. Malfoy was dressed head to toe in his usual black attire made up entirely of expensive velvets and silver accessories, the contrast of his blonde and the silver on black made his features seem rather striking and Hermione felt slightly inadequate in her deep plum colored robes.

"Now, now Mister Weasley," Grey eyes flickered quickly between the red head and the wavy haired brunette in front of him and filled with an unreadable emotion, "I hadn't realized I was interrupting a date. My sincerest apologies." His tone was icy, just as icy as she remembered, but there was an animosity missing that confused her.

"It's not a date, we're just friends." She wasn't sure what really make her explain herself to Lucius Malfoy; Merlin knew the man deserved no explanation from her of all people, but she couldn't resist clarifying that fact. When Ron nagged her about it later, she hurriedly explained it was best no rumors got out about them, to which he shrugged in response in belief of her quickly made-up excuse. The scent of expensive cologne drugged her senses and swam through her head, she only vaguely realized she was deeply inhaling the musky, practically tangible scent of Lucius Malfoy under Ron's scrutinizing gaze.

"Ah, I see. Well, then my apologies for the confusion. I simply meant to congratulate young Miss Granger on her graduation. The Headmistress spoke highly of your scores." The drawl of his voice, for the first time since she'd met the horrid man in that very shop all those years ago, did not sound contemptuous or even pompous. Arrogance seemed to have fallen away in shape of genuine esteem. Ron looked as if he would need a summoning charm to lift his jaw up off the floor and Hermione had a feeling her eyes belayed the shock that had nearly frozen her stiff,

"Oh. Well then thank you, Mister Malfoy." With a slow incline of his head he acknowledged her thanks,

"Your parents must be proud." Hermione and Ron both froze in anticipation, awaiting the dig at muggleborns they were sure would follow his opening statement…but it never came. Instead they were left in silence for a few long moments before Hermione lamely mustered up,

"They are, yes." Flustered and blushing under his knowing and amused gaze, she didn't like the way she turned suddenly into a bumbling schoolgirl around the darkly cloaked man. Cheeks flushed pink and knees on the verge of wobbling she stared up at Lucius with wide eyes that spoke loudly of her body's confused reaction to his proximity. Every day she swallowed down memories of being tortured on his drawing room floor and here he was instigating polite conversation with her in public? If there had been people around to witness the conversation she would have been sure he was simply working on his public image, but they were quite alone in the shop until the book master came out to ring up his order.

"Is this all, Mister Malfoy?" The older gentleman behind the counter asked of the hefty stack of books the intriguing man had set upon the counter.

"No, I would like to put in an order for Nora Fox's new book."

"Fox, you say?" The man behind the counter shuffled through his various papers curiously,

"Yes. F-O-X." Articulating strongly and sharply, the blonde glanced around the shop in a slow survey as he spoke.

"Ah yes, it'll be out next week. We'll have one on hold or shipped to the Manor, sir?"

"On hold is fine, thank you, I'll be around on Tuesday." Both hands were perched on his cane which, Hermione noticed with curiosity, seemed to be made of two types of woods. The top was the same silver snake head that she had recognized as an item of terror since childhood and the wood directly attached to the snake was dark black, but grew into a warm cherry wood color about a quarter down the cane. He had a strong jaw and rather captivating profile, she'd never really noticed before how arresting his features were. Curious eyes met her own and she realized that he had caught her staring, quickly she averted her eyes to the toes of black heels.

"Very good, sir, very good. And is that all today, Mister Malfoy?"

"No, if you could add Miss Granger's purchases, as well, and uh—Mister Weasley, were you getting anything?" Hermione was slightly peeved by his presumptuous mannerisms but tried to remind herself that the man was only trying to be nice, he probably harbored a lot of guilt from the war and was trying to relieve some of his own bad karma.

"If I was I could pay for it myself, thanks." The air seemed to slip from the room, then. Ron's snapping tone made Hermione burn in mortification, which brought more confusion upon her shoulders that she shrugged off as being humiliation for Ron's obvious lack of skills in polite society. Malfoy's eyebrows only rose in bemusement to Ron's outrage.

"I think he means that you really don't have to do that, Mister Malfoy, though it is very kind of you."

"Well, I do insist, Miss Granger. Think of it as a graduation present, hm?" Apparently unable to take no for an answer, he reached out a gloved hand and peeled the large book from Hermione's arms. A stiff smile rose onto his lips as he plucked the quill out of Ron's hand and set the purchases onto the counter to join his collection of purchases. "Ah, the freshly annotated _Hogwarts, A History_. It's a fine read, Miss Granger, I think you'll enjoy it. Especially his notes on the Whomping Willow, I believe your cat is rather fondly mentioned." Shock seemed to have buzzed her senses. Still, a small part of her was rather irked by his annoying manner of presuming he would know what she would enjoy to read.

"Yes, I read it this past spring. I loved it." Breathy and monotone, her voice was not the voice of the strong-willed Hermione that she tried to force it into being. A small flash of her body writhing in pain, blood caked in her hair as her brown eyes met his grey eyes from her whimpering spot on his drawing room floor—he had done nothing.

"Mm, I understand why. Brilliant mind." Whether he was speaking of Dumbledore or Hermione was left unclear. Lucius Malfoy left no time for questioning as he gently slipped the book and quill into her hands, the leather gloves whispering across her fingertips so gently that her eyes shot to his in genuine disbelief that he would allow his gloves to touch a muggleborn, though she pondered, it wasn't his actual skin. A tremor ran through her all the same as if an electric shock had jolted her to life she stared into his grey eyes, searching for some sort of hint at alternative motives besides relieving his own guilt, but finding no motives—not even the one she had already decided for him.

"Thank you." The words left her in one short exhale and for the first time in their short, though fairly uncomfortable, interaction did the man falter in what looked like awkwardness.

"Yes. Enjoy the book and the rest of your afternoon. Good day, Miss Granger." When he went to walk away he jumped quite obviously when he turned to face Ron, apparently he had forgotten about her companion's presence altogether, "Mister Weasley." With a familiar flourish of robes that seemed secondhand to those of the Slytherin house, he disappeared onto the streets of Diagon Alley with only a quick glance back into the shop.

"What a git."

"I thought he seemed rather nice, especially for Lucius Malfoy."

"Yeah just what he wants you to think, as soon as we start trusting their lot—that's when they really get us, you'll see." Ron's words stuck with her for the rest of the day, then all through dinner with an ecstatic Ginny and Harry (Ron couldn't come, he had a date with Lavender Brown and couldn't miss it seeing as it was their last chance to get together before the following day's full moon.)

"Well he's right, Hermione, as soon as you trust the enemy is when they stab you in the back." Ginny spoke as Harry worked his fingers into her shoulders, massaging her in preparation for the third round of tryouts the next day. They sat in the library of Grimmauld Place, the fire burning bright and casting shadows across their faces. Ginny's hair looked especially vibrant in the firelight and she seemed rather distracted with the sight of the fire dancing across the diamond on her finger. "Keep your friends close and enemies closer and all that, that's what Dad always said. Don't you think, Harry?"

"I dunno, Gin, maybe the guy's really changed." Harry seemed to purposefully avoid Ginny's piercing gaze by making quite pointed eye contact with Hermione. "Anything's possible, a lot of the rehab at the ministry seems to be really making changes, not surprising with Shacklebolt in charge. You ok, Hermione?"

"Fine, fine really. Honestly, I'm not sure what to make of him though. Just with the letter first and then Lucius nice—no, more than nice. Cordial, really. I've sort of got to thinking that they might all deserve a second chance, especially if they're showing remorse. Wouldn't we just be acting like them if we blamed them for things they can't change?"

"That's what Shacklebolt is saying, he's pushing hard for the rehab program to include regular raids-"

"Can't they do that already?" Ginny cut in.

"Yeah but this would pull the need for a warrant out of the process." Hermione felt even more conflicted about this idea and overall exhausted from her long day of handling not only Ron but the oddity that was the presence of Lucius. With that excuse she bid her goodbyes to her friends and went home, eager to crawl into her bed and try to figure out if this is what a normal life entailed.

 **Working on the next chapter, currently. Hope you're enjoying! Please let me know what you think :)**


	3. A Response

**Ok this is a longer chapter because I finally fell into the rhythm of the story. Another encounter is included here, it is brief but it is one of the first of many to come I promise! I think the story finally gets to be much more intriguing toward the end of the chapter!**

 _Dear Ms. Granger,_

 _Continued congratulations for your success at the Daily Prophet, you must know how it pleases me to see your work being published for all to read. I find that I simply cannot resist your column and I know much of the staff and student body agree. If you are ever in need of any advice or help you know where to find me. Perhaps you would like to call for tea sometime soon; without Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and yourself the school is rather quiet. Best wishes in all future endeavors and more congratulations in the face of your recent success. I always knew you could do anything you set your mind to._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Hermione was aware that it was not the absence of her and her friends that made Hogwarts feel quiet. Even with her presence in her last year, Hogwarts did not feel the same as it had before. It was not the same as it was in her sixth year and it was definitely not the same as it was in her first year. The jack o'lanterns had floated above the Great Hall on Halloween, the ridiculously large Christmas trees had been in their familiar spots for winter, the Hogwarts Express still chugged its way through the same mountains and meadows—but Hogwarts was forever changed by the battle there. As were its residents.

On a Monday the Headmistress' note arrived at Hermione's home tied around the claw of a rather magnificent snowy owl who reminded Hermione of Hedwig in the slightest of ways and on Wednesday Hermione found herself outside of the large castle that she still called home. The sun glinted off the windows and she imagined she could hear the stampede of feet that rang through the hallways just after lunch. The homey smell of Scotland grass mingled with the rich smell of the autumnal humidity against the castle stone. She was home.

It had been two weeks since the first edition of her column ran in the Prophet and since her response letter to "The Fallen One" Hermione had been in no correspondence with anyone of similar writing style. Her interest piqued every now and then when questions regarding difficulties with neighbors or family members who had been on opposing sides during the war found themselves in her hands; but time moved slowly in the two weeks at her new job and she felt as if a million years had gone by and she would never hear from the original, intriguing, anonymous writer again.

"Ms. Granger, how happy I am to see you." Minerva embraced Hermione in a way that mothers embrace their daughters. Chest to chest, arms wrapped tight around the younger woman's back, and an honest smile on her face the Headmistress then lead her formal pupil further into the office, "Can I interest you in tea? A biscuit?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you." They spoke easily on all of the changes in both of their lives: Minerva on leading the school which had finally been finished being rebuilt, Hermione on beginning a job that she had not realized she would have such a passion for.

"My dear, you have always liked helping people: starting with your classmates, continuing to all of wizarding kind, and now to the readers of the Daily Prophet. To be so easily able to do so is an incredibly inspiring thing to watch. Mr. Weasley must be proud." Knowing eyes smiled at her from behind the cat-eye glasses the older woman wore and Hermione felt her face flush,

"I wouldn't know, he spends so much of his time these days with Lavender Brown."

"Ah, and here I thought he would come to his senses. How silly of me, I'm sorry Hermione. Is there another young man filling your time then?" Genuine emotion and curiosity were not hard to find in Minerva a woman who, much like Hermione, could have excelled as easily in Ravenclaw as she had in Gryffindor. It was true, Ron had been the center of her affections for a long time and still she often found herself taken by his athletic build and charismatic sense of humor. It wouldn't work though, Hermione often reminded herself when they were left alone, they'd tried it out and it was not meant to be. Of its own accord, Hermione's mind could not help but flicked to the mysterious letter she had received those few weeks ago.

"Not at the moment, no." The conversation moved easily on from there with all formalities being dropped between the two Order members.

Eyes wandering around the office, Hermione appreciated how the room stayed much the same as it had been when Dumbledore had been in charge but how Minerva seemed to have added her own feminine touch to the place. The multitude of golden trinkets that had adorned nearly every surface in Dumbledore's years were gone and replaced by gold and red vases which overflowed with the most glorious roses Hermione had ever seen. Hourglasses in a variation of sizes and in various stages of use were placed about the room, the rush of sand was a calming ambient sound that paired rather nicely with the scratching of the charmed quill on parchment which worked dutifully at the Headmistress' desk. A singing hourglass alerted Minerva an important meeting, she explained with a chuckle at Hermione's look of interest at the soprano sand,

"Let me walk you out, Hermione, I hate to cut this short but I agreed to the meeting quite some time ago. I do hope you'll call again soon." Hermione slightly dreaded heading home when she truly wanted to head back to the dormitory and curl to sleep in her old bed. A pang of sadness overwhelmed her suddenly followed by a shortness of breath as she forced herself to control her melancholy. It suddenly became difficult to speak,

"Yes," Hermione spoke as she allowed herself to be led out of the office with one last quick, hopeful glance up at Snape's sleeping portrait and Dumbledore's empty one, "I would like that very much. It's comforting to be around someone else who is still recovering." At her breathy voice, Minerva turned and set a gentle hand on the shoulder of the much shorter woman as the spiraling staircase led them out of the office.

"If you need anything, my dear, anything at all—do not hesitate to owl. You've been through quite a lot, it's only natural for you to seek excitement and drama that reminds you of your old life." Again, Hermione's mind conjured up the words in that mysterious letter. Surprise clearly registered on Hermione's face and before she could even follow up with a question Minerva let out a rare, but tension-relieving, laugh, "So long as you don't go getting yourself into trouble, which I can trust you to be wary of, you will be fine."

"Much better than fine, I hope, one day anyways." There was no use hiding that irrational tears were swimming at the surface of her brown eyes and hurriedly Minerva conjured a kind handkerchief for the alumni.

"Have you sought counselling, Hermione?" The quiet tone of voice that she took up unsettled Hermione, it was not so often that Minerve McGonagall spoke so gently unless she was truly worried, "You know there is no shame in seeking help when you need it, I expect you of all people to know that."

"Yes, Ms. Granger, if you like you can join me at my next meeting with my Rehabilitation Counselor. It would only raise morale, I believe I heard the Minister saying just yesterday, if we could coexist within these meetings." Both women's heads snapped to see Lucius Malfoy standing quite serenely at the bottom of the staircase. Once again dressed completely in black with shining silver accents, he leaned on his cane and awaited a response with a satisfied smirk. Hurriedly, Hermione used the white cloth Minerva had given her and wiped her tears away. Once again, feeling the part of a silly schoolgirl caught behaving naughtily by the older man. This time, rather than fighting with Ronald in public he had caught her crying to the Headmistress.

"Surely, Mr. Malfoy, the Minister of Magic did not suggest that you and Ms. Granger should seek similar counselling after the war. I do believe the distress you two suffered are traumas exceedingly different in nature." An undeniable chill ran through the long corridor at the older Gryffindor's implications and a slight flush on Lucius' cheeks was noticed by both women.

Lucius ignored the woman's response completely and instead turned his whole attention to the younger woman in front of him. With her hair pulled into a tight, slick bun and her black robes pushed behind her shoulders to reveal a rather mature charcoal colored dress Hermione was indeed a rather picturesque vision of the modern working witch.

"Ms. Granger, I hope you enjoyed your book." The comment was less shocking than the warm tone of Malfoy's voice. The iciness that Minerva had expected from the tall man was absent and instead a pleasant air had been taken up for the benefit of the younger woman.

"Very much so, thank you Mr. Malfoy."

"For that there is no need, it is thanks enough to know you enjoyed your gift. Now if you'll excuse me, Ms. Granger, the Headmistress and I have rather important business to discuss. Good evening." The dismissal was abrupt and left Hermione with no option but to nod in agreement and turn to her friend one last time,

"Perhaps next week you'll allow me to call again?" Minerva did not miss that Malfoy's gaze did not leave Hermione's face throughout their short exchange.

"Any time, my dear, I trust you can find your way out." A quick nod of agreement sent Hermione heading down the long halls of her favorite building before she stepped out into the humidity of autumn and appeared back home.

 _Dear Jane,_

 _I'm dating a werewolf and want to propose on our anniversary. Our anniversary is the day after a full moon, do you think this will bugger up my plans? Should I wait till next year?_

 _Thanks,_

 _Nervous Boyfriend_

"You don't think Ron would propose would he?" Harry looked rightfully concerned as he scanned the letter again. Ginny was outright laughing as she read from over Harry's shoulder, a half-eaten apple forgotten as she chuckled,

"He's dumb enough, it would not surprise me. Blimey, I didn't think he'd be daft enough to write to you for proposal advice though. But I guess I've been wrong before." Harry handed the letter back to Hermione from across her desk as he swiftly changed the topic,

"So how's McGonagall?"

They were hulled up in Hermione's small office, she had originally charmed the walls to be baby blue to reflect a summer sky and now they were covered in her different diplomas, awards, and pictures and the effect was rather grand. Twinkling lights floated above their heads, much to Ginny's pleasure, and dozens of letters requesting advice were scattered across the desk and floor. They'd agreed to sift through letters during their lunch break and Ginny had agreed to join them on her one day break before final rounds of Quidditch try outs.

"She's doing well. Hogwarts is well. Would you believe that I bumped into Malfoy again?"

"Yeah I've seen him a lot lately, myself. He's always pouting around outside the Aurors offices but won't say what for."

"Really? I thought if you served time in Azkaban you weren't allowed up there for anything besides questioning!" Hermione's words were muffled slightly by the salad she was scooping into her mouth as she glanced between letters, trying to ascertain whether one witch had eagerly sent multiple letters in hopes of making the next print or if there was a group of people with very similar penmanship.

"Hermione, Draco didn't serve any time in-"

"She means Lucius, love. So, what did he do this time? Did he buy you another book? Maybe send you on a free vacation?" Ginny's bold giggling was infectious and Hermione released a small snort,

"Not quite. He was actually rather nice again and then he dismissed me, rudely too. And right in front of Minerva, at that."

"I dunno what you're thinking Hermione, but let it go. Lucius Malfoy is a narcissistic bastard and always will be; him buying you the book was some weird mind game if you ask me."

"Ginny's right, Hermione. Moving past the war and all that is one thing, but thinking there's a slight chance he's anything remotely near being a good person is just crazy."

"I never said I thought he might be a good person! He annoys the living daylights out of me, it's just odd is all that I keep bumping into him." The indignation in her voice was obvious and Harry knew from years of experience not to press the topic any further,

"I suppose so. Anyways, I say Ron's proposing next week. I put ten galleons on it!" They started chatting easily again after that. Hermione wasn't sure why she was so sensitive to the topic, she knew she couldn't explain herself to her friends because she really couldn't even explain the logic to herself. All she knew was that Lucius Malfoy's suddenly ambivalent attitude toward her was unsettling and, frankly, beginning to verge on condescending.

She arrived back to work the following day to a fresh pile of letters and requests. Settling into her chair behind her desk with her legs tucked beneath herself, Hermione enjoyed her second mug of tea as she began to scan letters. The task was becoming slightly tedious but she still found it to be rather amusing and, now, found herself able to easily discern which letters may be worthwhile or at least relatable to readers and which ones were rubbish.

 _Dear Jane,_

 _My mother says I am too young to ride a broomstick even though I can afford one with my own money-_ Rubbish. She would not be the columnist who went against a mother's word, half her audience would disappear with that. A fresh one read,

 _Dear Jane,_

 _I have three brothers and have found that they are all similar. I am not like them. Do you think that-_ Rubbish. Well, boring mostly, but not something that she was interested in putting in the paper. So she continued with a new one,

 _I have a swollen ankle when it's going to rain but my boyfriend doesn't believe me_ —Rubbish.

 _Convincing my father that dating a muggle is a daunting task, but I am pleased by his progress—_ Hermione set that one to the side as a contender for earning a response. At least it was mildly interesting and could apply to other readers out there. It was as when she was setting that specific letter to her "possible options" pile that she saw it. A fine piece of parchment written upon with beautiful navy blue penmanship that she would recognize anywhere.

 _Dear Miss Jane,_

Hermione's heart nearly stuttered and excitement set her hands into a slight tremble at the familiar formality, it had to be him.

 _I must apologize for my delayed response, business has not been normal and so my personal life has been put on a hold. It is with my most sincere apologies that I hope that you may never encounter a divorce as wicked as mine has proven to be. Begging for your forgiveness, I hesitantly shall give you a brief response to your inquiries._

 _My name shall remain a mystery and thus much of my history shall also remain anonymous; for, what is in a name? This question I can answer simply: everything is in a name. For my family, our name is everything. A binding contract of honor, arrogance, fortune, and the pressures that come along with these common pureblood chattels._

 _There is great beauty in this anonymity that I have not known in my lifetime. A freedom that I cannot explain allows this quill to dip itself into the ink and scratch upon this parchment, anxious to reveal my secrets and tell a story that should not be told. To answer the questions I know you wish to ask would be a death wish, Miss Jane. I can only confirm that yes, I did side with the Dark Lord. I did fight for a reign of terror. I did commit horrible crimes against both sinners and innocents. Those days are over now, Miss Jane, and I am proud of my status in rehabilitation. I am proud that I can say I am working towards leaving the man that I was behind. I am proud to be making amends in as many ways as I can. But I am alone, Miss Jane. Both by the efforts of those around me and the efforts of myself._

 _Now knowing the much abbreviated tale that is my life, I must ask you again: do I deserve happiness? I committed atrocious crimes in the hopes of omitting happiness and love from the lives of those I believed to be beneath me. Shall I now seek out those very privileges I once sought to destroy in_ [here the words "innocents" was scratched out] _others?_

 _I am a proud man, Miss Jane, but a proud man who now has a conscience. My conscience says I do not deserve happiness, not now that I have shattered the lives of so many._

 _It would not be appropriate to run this full letter in the daily paper, I am aware of this. Running the first letter with a response would be acceptable, but I request you do not release this second letter. An abandoned address has been attached, the owls there will find me if you feel so inclined to respond to me but not publish the letter—this too would be greatly appreciated._

 _Whether you choose to answer or not is at your discretion though it would please me very much to receive a response from such a thoughtful, earnest witch._

 _Anxiously at your disposal,_

 _The Fallen One_

 _P.S.- May I ask how you acquired the name "Jane?" As, I believe I have an inkling of an idea forming._

On the following page was the address he had mentioned in his letter, it was unfamiliar to Hermione, but the address was the least of her worries. Anxiously, she sat in her desk rereading the letter for much of the morning. With a pounding heart and an aching head, at lunch she folded the letter into a tight square and tucked it into her purse. Excusing herself with a head cold, Hermione excused herself for the rest of the day and returned home to pour over the letter again and again. There was something so achingly familiar about the note, but she could not put her finger on why she was so enchanted by the swirling letters on the page. A decision would have to be made, she knew, but she was struggling to find a happy solution for herself.

If she answered the letter she would be responding to an ex-Death Eater. If she didn't respond to the letter she would be discriminating against a man for crimes that should be forgotten, since the war was over and the wizarding community was working towards forgiveness and equality for all. So she would respond, that was the only possible solution to the predicament.

Now, if she responded saying he did not deserve happiness and love then she would have to identify as a truly horrible person—wouldn't she? But, she had sincerely conflicted feelings on this. The man had done atrocious things, he had admitted this himself. She had been at the hands of Death Eaters, she had been the victim of war crimes. The likes of Bellatrix Lestrange did not deserve happiness or love, surely not. But what if he hadn't actually been inducted into the actual ring of Death Eaters, this she was a theory she was extremely positive of. For some reason she had the inkling that this man was just a follower, a lackey, one who magnified his own crimes because of his guilt. It was true, she was sympathizing and romanticizing him because of the humility and regret in his letters. Wishful thinking got her nowhere but further confused.

Did this man deserve love?

Hermione found that she could not say that for herself. She didn't know this man, did not know his crimes, but every human deserves love don't they? Every witch and wizard deserves to hold and be held. Every witch and wizard should have the opportunity to share their life with whomever they deserve, shouldn't they?

Then why, a voice in the back of Hermione's mind, why was it that Hermione herself restrained so extremely from looking for that love. If every witch and wizard deserves the beauty of waking up next to a lover, why did Hermione withhold this pleasure from herself?

If she could not convince herself that she deserved love, would she be a hypocrite to tell this man that he deserved the same?

 **Apologies for any mistakes, I proofread but it is difficult to catch everything. The next chapter will finally have things heating up as Hermione makes a decision and the plot can finally get rolling! I hope you'll consider reviewing and letting me know what you think!**


	4. Closure Brings Relief

**AN: Thank you for the few reviews that I received, they were both helpful and encouraging and I really appreciate it! This chapter was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sorry for any mistakes I might have missed in editing, I think I caught most of them but who knows. Anyways, in this chapter you'll see a slightly tipsy Hermione get emotional and a slightly aged Minerva get emotional. Enjoy!**

Autumn was bustling around the corner before Hermione could fully appreciate summer. The days were long and achingly hot for a lovely two months before the heat sweltered into lively storms that brought clouds rolling in and evening rains that weeks later cooled into a comfortable, though rather windy, breeze. Mrs. Weasley had already started her Christmas sweaters, Ginny was well into Quidditch practices, Ron and Lavender had moved in together, and Harry had been promoted to one of the higher up Aurors in the department. All was well in Hermione's first summer that didn't conclude with the excitement of returning to school. It was nearly August when the young witch finally made a decision on how she was going to handle the anonymous letter that bothered her so horribly. Dozens of editions of her article had been published and forgotten while she carried the mysterious response around with her. The folded parchment, once crisp and white but now yellow and wrinkled, stayed perpetually folded at the bottom of the pocket where she usually kept her wand. The words often swam about in her head as she tried to pretend that she felt as if she was doing her job to the fullest with an unanswered and pressing letter chaining her to her guilt like a weighted anchor.

In the last week of July she sat down with the editor, a calm and collected man who had always been open to Hermione's input, and explained her dilemma. The material wasn't very lighthearted and she was scared to publically admit her opinion on this man, but if she gave positive feedback it _would_ be obvious support toward the Ministry's rehabilitation program—something the Prophet had stayed rather neutral on, as society sat on opposing and extreme positions when it came to the program. Geoff Tifflace, her editor, sat across from her with his glasses pushed high on his nose and a look of great concentration on his face as he reviewed the letters she had presented to him.

"Your response is very good, Hermione, I don't think the Ministry would complain." The decision was a relief but still she felt burdened,

"And the higher-ups here? How do you think they'll react?" Frown lines were visible as he turned his eyes back to the parchment, scanning with skilled speed.

"As long as your weekly disclaimer runs with this letter, I don't think it will be a problem. Is this the copy you're submitting, then?" Geoff was known for speaking rather slowly, he had a very soothing voice that sat low on the register, but many people avoided confronting him with editing issues because of his glacial pacing. The weekly disclaimer basically debriefed the readers that Jane's opinions were in no way affiliated with the Prophet's and were her own personal beliefs that the Prophet neither agreed nor disagreed with. Basically, the Daily Prophet took no responsibility for printing what they were paying her to write. It was charming, truly.

"Yes," Standing quickly, she collected her purse with hands that she convinced herself would not shake, "I think it's finally ready."

"Excellent, Hermione. It will be out in two days' time along with the others from this week…." Patiently waiting for an official dismissal, the witch waited only a few seconds longer before quickly shutting the door behind her and heading down to the office. It was out of her hands now; with a response written and waiting to be published, Hermione had officially removed the thought that had been secretly itching at the back of her mind all summer and she was free.

"Well it's about bloody time!" Ronald was laughing as he spoke but Ginny quickly kicked his shin under the table in a manner far from subtle, "What?" Incredulous he looked to Harry and Lavender for support, "I'm just saying, all we've heard since you started the bloody job was what to do about this Death Eater. Now you've told him to sod off and that'll be the end of it. Good riddance, I say, now you can finally get some real work done." With a jerk of his head signifying the end of his speech, Ron took a swig of his butterbeer that finished with a lip smacking sigh of satisfaction. Ginny and Hermione made eye contact in which the curly headed brunette made a dramatic display of rolling her eyes before laughing in good humor over the absurdity of the situation—who would've thought, back at school, that she would be giving Death Eaters personal advice?

"If I know Hermione," Harry spoke with amused eyes still lingering on Ron's flushing face. "she didn't tell him to sod off, did you?" Green eyes twinkled at hers in a way that quite reminded her of Sirius for a quick moment, though she brushed that thought to the side,

"No actually I didn't, Harry." Harry chuckled and Ginny stopped kicking at her brother to turn her full attention to her brunette friend. They were holed up in the back of the Leaky Cauldron, all squeezed into a booth with Hermione sitting at a chair stuck at the end of the table. It was a Friday night and the whole place was bustling and a live band was playing cover music rather loudly but Ginny had charmed their table so they could easily hear and speak without yelling. Magic was rather handy, indeed. Though, they were all just approaching a level of tipsiness where yelling seemed inevitable.

"No, course not. Why would you? That would only make too much bloody sense." Muttering into his butterbeer, Ron turned away from the conversation and toward his girlfriend. Lavender was quietly sitting as close to the wall as possible, not to exclude herself from Ron's friends (no, they'd all grown rather fond of her after the war), but to keep her heavily scarred face as shadowed as she could. The full moon had been only a few days ago and the cuts on her face were still red and puffy. Much shyer after the war, Lavender seemed thrilled to have Ron's attention all to herself. Well, Hermione thought in a way that she truly hoped wasn't bitterness, some things never change.

"What'd you say, Hermione?" Ginny had been drinking pumpkin juice and waters all night, much to Hermione's amusement, and had ignored her friends' nosy questioning. Now, her fingers were tightly wrapped within Harry's as they both leaned forward with looks of great curiosity. Knowing she had them in the palm of her hand, Hermione gave a nonchalant, sloppy shrug as she sipped her firewhiskey,

"I guess you'll just have to pay special attention to this Sunday's article." The smell of cigarettes was stronger than the slight haze that filled the room and as the three of them tipped their heads back in laughter, Hermione felt the smoke burn at her throat. On top of the burn of too much alcohol in her system and the slight chill of the start of autumn on her skin, Hermione knew this was what happiness was.

"No wonder you're still single, 'Mione," Ron's voice broke from the corner of the voice following a wet popping sound, "you're a bloody tease." Hurt registered quicker than she had expected it to. How she could possibly go from feeling without a care and on top of the world to smaller than the sickles she threw on the table to cover her bill, she did not know. Before Harry could make apologies or Ron could argue with Ginny for the quick kick she'd just bestowed upon his shin, Hermione was standing with her head bent and hair covering her quickly dampening cheeks,

"Right." It was higher pitched than she had aimed for, "I'll see you soon. Harry, Ginny, Lavender." With quick nods in their directions, not looking up to see the pity in any of their eyes', she turned quickly on the spot and returned home.

Feeling much like she had as a fourth year, though much more intoxicated, Hermione threw herself onto her bed with a groan of frustration. Tears were falling of their own accord, she blamed that time of the month bitterly, but mostly she was just frustrated. It wasn't like Hermione to sit idly by and let life happen to her. She was a go-getter, always had been. That's what made her such a Gryffindor, through and through, she sought out life and adventure. Docile, calm, lukewarm—these were adjectives that Hermione proudly lived knowing could never be attached to her name. Astute, proactive, complex, and passionate were her badges of honor. And yet, there she sat at the fragile transitionary period in one's life when they are out of school and thrust into adulthood feeling as if they have experienced very much but with no idea or desire to become the average adult. All in all Hermione felt very, very small and inconsequential in a very big world. Two very big worlds, technically, one in which she had made a very big splash and the other (the "real world" according to her well-meaning parents) in which she had quite literally accomplished nothing.

Being a war heroine had its perks and had blessed her with opportunities she was so very gracious for, yet there she was—in the same position she had been in her fourth year after the Yule Ball, crying over the same stupid boy. "Why do you ruin everything?" She'd screeched the words like a banshee then and they reiterated again in her head now. Though she knew it wasn't truly Ron's fault, he was not solely to blame, for this release of pent up emotions. Since she was eleven Hermione had had a greater goal to work toward: saving the wizarding world by supporting Harry and destroying Voldemort. When that goal had been completed she had set the new goal: graduate from Hogwarts with flying colors. That goal had been accomplished, as well, and now a heavy weight filled her. Dread pulled her heart down to the bottom of her stomach, even with her new job that was going swimmingly and the support of all of her friends, Hermione felt as if she had peaked and there were no true goals left to accomplish.

"Tea, Granger?" Minerva was already pouring the steaming drink into a gold rimmed teacup as Hermione nodded her consent, sitting quietly in her usual spot. Every Sunday afternoon since that first meeting which had ended with the brief encounter with Lucius Malfoy, Hermione joined her favorite professor for tea. This week the Daily Prophet sat at the small table between them, Minerva in her deep red armchair and Hermione on the matching loveseat, both reclining quietly as they listened to the sound of rain tapping against the windows. The steam rising of the tea warmed Hermione's face and her palms, too, were warmed by the heat of the saucer and cup.

"So," A coy smile was pursed upon the older woman's thin lips and Hermione knew she would have to beg if she wanted her curiosity quenched, "what did you think?" The Headmistress took a long sip of her tea, both fully aware that she was good humoredly making Hermione wait before she responded,

"It was very good, Hermione, but you already know that." Incapable of blushing at the truth, Hermione agreed with a small nod, "You want to know how I feel about your opinions, is that it?" Again, Hermione nodded anxiously and Minerva let her thin lips stretch into a wide smile of pride.

"You've always been bright, Hermione, there is no need for me to tell you that you are an exceptionally sharp witch that I consider to be like family to me." At this, the woman across from Hermione averted her eyes and blinked rapidly in a way that made Hermione's chest tighten and her own eyes sting, "I am so proud of the young woman you have become and I did not believe I could prouder of you than I was the day Voldemort was distinguished, but this morning you proved me wrong." At these words, Hermione's eyes filled with tears and an embarrassed blush crept up her neck and over her plump cheeks.

"Thank you, Headmistress-"

"Minerva, dear, please. You would think by now we would have discussed it." Conjuring a handkerchief for each of them, the older woman hurriedly wiped her eyes, "Now, we're being ridiculous. It's just an article, but I know how much you worried yourself over this response and I could not be prouder of how you handled yourself. Staying true to yourself, Hermione, even in anonymity shows great bravery."

"Thank you, Minerva," She accentuated the woman's name with a broad smile, "you have no idea how much it means for me to hear those words from you."

Beneath both typed letters from the anonymous writer, the Daily Prophet printed Hermione's keyed response:

 _Dear Fallen One,_

 _Thank you very much for your loquacious response, you did not disappoint. Not that I assumed you would, but you must understand the great pleasure you bring me with your eloquent phrasing of even, what must surely be, the most painful memories. I realized only after I had received your response that I have not yet offer my condolences about your divorce; thus, I apologize both for my rudeness and my belated condolences._

 _This war has taken a heavy toll on our society, has it not? It is not just lives that have been ripped from our grasps, but the innocence of an entire generation that has been destroyed. The dewy-eyed idea that there is no evil on this earth that can harm witches and wizards, is not a folly that this generation will ever live with. However, we do have the gratification of knowing truly that good shall always overcome evil. With the death of Lord Voldemort it was inscribed in the history books that evil shall be banished time and time again by one beautiful thing that we all have within us: love._

 _So, my dear friend, I am quite pleased to inform you that you deserve love. You write of being involved with the Ministry's rehabilitation program, proving that you are ready to put this war behind you. You explained that during the war you were prejudiced against those for things that they could not change about themselves, like the status of their blood. Now, if anyone is prejudiced against you for your involvement in the war (a situation you cannot change) then they were behaving just as you did then._

 _I know on a logical level, Fallen One, that you know this already. I apologize for reiterating information that you already possess, but I could not respond without making sure you knew the truth. Anyone who tries to withhold happiness from you is acting as tragically poor as you did during the war. Happiness is a human right and this war has proven that we are very much humans. Mortal, complex beings who do little but build and destroy, build and destroy. Well, my friend, you admitted that you have destroyed. So now, I must beg you to build. Build a new life around the positivity that you can muster. Awake each day to the idea that the past is in the past and you have been given a second chance at mortality—and that you should use it wisely._

 _My advice to you is that you should pursue the one thing that will continue to rehabilitate you and ensure that Voldemort's legacy is dead: pursue love. Seek out love in all areas of life. Love yourself for being brave enough to survive, love your ex-wife for giving you the freedom you need to reinvent yourself, love your son for a reminder that making love creates life, and love this world that we live in for it is the only one that we have._

 _Fallen One, you only have one life to live and I suggest that you live it to the fullest. Do what makes you happy and do it with vigor. Pursue love, you deserve it. You are allowed to love. You deserve love. Be kind and have courage, I know you will do well._

 _With love,_

 _Miss Jane_

Beneath the response, Hermione had attached a series of addresses (both floo and standard) to several hotlines for depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, and the rehabilitation center. Though the rehabilitation program was mandatory for Death Eaters who had been marked, Hermione had a feeling that there were several people out there who could benefit from sitting through a few lessons on equality and love. Writing the letter had lifted a weight off her shoulders but being able to see the letter published was truly liberating. It wasn't only a letter to her anonymous friend, Hermione knew it was also a letter to herself. If she was having the same issues that she had had when she was back at Hogwarts she knew it was time to move on, make new friends, broaden her horizons, and allow herself the freedom to love.

 **Remember, there is always calm before the storm! Please let me know what you think, I'm excited to get this next chapter finished up and posted :)**


	5. A Storm Brews

**Author's Note: Another update! Finally, a more active interaction between Hermione and Lucius. I shan't give anything away, enjoy!**

Monday, the first day of August, brought terrible rain in the early morning that roused Hermione from a fitful night of sleeping. Dreams that were filled of friends' heads shaking with disapproval and the high, cold voice of Voldemort whispering things she would not allow herself to comprehend were washed away by the booming noises the storm made outside her window. The apartment was chilly and a draft seemed to be rising off the very walls as she sleepily slipped into her slippers and dressed for the day. Crookshanks was nowhere to be found, presumably hiding under the bed from the storm, and ignored the food the witch carefully laid out for him in hopes of enticing her breakfast buddy into the kitchen. Without luck, she ate in silence and alone. Deciding that the floo would be the safest with the frightful weather, an hour since she had awoken and lightening was still brightening her home every few minutes, Hermione grabbed her wand and prepared herself for a day of fresh letters. A new beginning.

When she stepped into the main lobby of the Daily Prophet, then, she was quite surprised as the blatant reminder of her past arriving out of the fireplace opposite her. Careful to keep her face passive and nonchalant, she blinked up at his intimidating stature without registering the bustling movement of arriving wizards around them. With a grim smile, Lucius Malfoy gave her a small nod before disappearing in a swirl of emerald robes into the thickening crowd of journalists. Shocked stiff, it took a bit of cajoling from Vanessa, a strawberry-blonde journalist on the floor below Hermione's, to get her moving towards the lifts. Unable to stop her anxious, and rather sleep-deprived thoughts, from spiraling her mind led her into wondering what exactly Lucius Malfoy thought of her article—if he had read it at all. He would be unaware, Hermione reassured herself as she rode the lift upwards, that it was she that had written so passionately about rehabilitation wizards' rights and privileges in modern society.

Even if he did know, she silently decided, his thoughts and opinions wouldn't matter as he was just Lucius Malfoy. A man who had proven to hold a black heart the day he watched her tortured by his very own sister-in-law without uttering a word of restraint. _Hypocrite._ It was Harry's voice that swam through her head, her well-guided conscience she supposed who was in fact correct. If she held such a sturdy grudge against the older Malfoy, or younger for that matter, she would not only be as horrible as they had been during the war but would also be acting against her own advice. A heavy sigh of resignation left her lips as she promised herself she would treat both Malfoy men with polite respect from here on out, especially when the elder of the two had so kindly purchased the book she had devoured a measly hours after its purchase. He was making amends, and thusly so would she. So, when she opened the door of her office to find him sitting in the chair across from her boss who sat where she usually worked Hermione attempted a smile that she knew worked itself into more of a grimace.

"Ms. Granger, do come in." It was her boss, Marshall Fitzherbert who beckoned her into the room and conjured a chair beside the straight-backed, blonde man.

"Mr. Firzherbert, Mr. Malfoy…to what do I owe the pleasure of you two in my office so early on this Monday morning?" Placing her purse beside her chair, Hermione perched herself on the edge with nerves she wished she could tackle down into submission but the vision of Malfoy combined with her boss was one that nearly made her fingers tremble with panic.

"It's rather gloomy out, isn't it, Ms. Granger?"

"Indeed it is, Mr. Malfoy." Lucius was a peculiar man with a remarkably distinct voice that she did not think she would ever be able to erase from her memory in this lifetime. It was not altogether unpleasant, she nearly rather enjoyed the calm tones of his voice. Or at least she would have, Hermione reckoned, if they did not remind her so supremely of the privileged life he lead and all of the negative connotations that came with his upper-class pureblood upbringing. She forced herself, still, to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps for once, this man's presence would not leave a wreckage of bad news in his wake.

"You see, ," Marshall spoke as many older wizards do to young women—as if they must explain everything as simply as possible in case witches' small minds cannot comprehend his complex and brilliant thoughts, "Mr. Malfoy has brought to my attention your latest article." Ice ran through her veins as she vaguely wondered if she was dreaming, it would explain her feeling of exhaustion surely.

"Oh and I take it you've then told Mr. Malfoy that I—that she—of who-" A bright laugh caught her off-guard,

"Yes, Ms. Granger, I know you are Miss Jane." Amusement danced in his eyes as he studied her profile, her eyes still locked upon her boss' figure.

"I see."

"To get straight to the point, Ms. Granger, as a rather influential person of interest at the Ministry you can understand why he is concerned with your article." Confusion spread across her face and she felt herself losing the calm exterior that she trying to maintain. It was rather impossible to remain calm when her cover had been blown and the Ministry had taken person offense to her article.

"No, I'm sorry but I don't. I've done nothing but support the Ministry's rehabilitation program and give support to ex-Death Eaters. Why would that be concerning?" Breathy and feeling rather unstable, Hermione wished she had had a second cup of tea that morning or at least a pepper-up potion. The tops of her eyelids felt heavy and her eyes suddenly itchy as brown eyes glanced between the two men. Sweaty palms rubbed along the soft material of pencil skirt and she felt her boss' eyes follow her hands; in the back of her mind she wondered if he was looking at her legs or watching to be sure she didn't reach for her wand, both were plausible. A measured pause was taken as the men contemplated the train of action that felt terribly pre-planned to Hermione, before Lucius' voice interrupted her troubled thoughts,

"Ah well the fact of the matter is, Ms. Granger, that while your thoughts are indeed noble they directly conflicts with what our rehabilitation program has been promoting amongst those enrolled to recover."

"I beg your pardon?" The measured eyes that she had known this whole time to be a cold grey, were actually an electric blue. Shocks of grey rippled through the blue so light that she did not blame herself for all of these years of confusion. The eyes were neither measured nor grey in that moment but blue and pleading. Pleading for what, the young woman did not understand. With a tilted head and lips pursed to speak, Lucius took the girl in but struggled to say everything he wished to clarify then.

"Ms. Granger, the point of the matter is we need you to write an apology letter to the Ministry and a second occurrence of this insolence will result in the removal of your column." Ftizherbert's voice broke a trance she did not realize she had been under and fury rushed to the surface and boiled past her self-control,

"Removal of my column? How was I to know what the Ministry has been telling Death Eaters! We have a disclaimer, it says it's my own personal opinion not that of-"

"Ex- Death Eaters but yes, Ms. Granger, but we at the Ministry do not know who _Jane_ is. She does not exist, there is no person for the readers' to place their blame on except for the Daily Prophet and I daresay that is not an option is it, Marshall?"

"Certainly not. Well, I think that resolves this matter. Lucius, thank you for your time as always and Ms. Granger I look forward to that retraction statement." Bottom jaw dropped, Hermione spun quickly to watch her boss close her office door behind his rather robust figure.

"And what exactly, Mr. Malfoy, should my retraction statement say?" A nastiness she dare not throw around with her boss in the room revealed itself to him as he stood, looking quite out place in her quaint office. She hated him then for letting his judgmental blue eyes sweep around her office in a dismissing once-over, she hated him for being the one to cause her torment, she hated him for wreaking havoc on the relief and peace she had only just created for herself.

"I imagine that it should mention that you retract your statement." Teasing amusement that she did not find charming glinted in his eyes and she hated his antagonistic tendencies even more. Fury brought a blush of deep crimson to her cheeks and her hands fisted by her sides as her voice rose several octaves,

"What did I say, Malfoy? What I do that was so horrible? Was it my kindness or my acceptance that the Ministry hates so much?" Snarling her questions she stepped into his personal space with blatant disregard for propriety or the worried lines which made themselves visible upon his forehead. Raised eyebrows remained quirked as he spoke down his nose to the short woman who reached no higher than his collarbone.

"Rather the opposite, I expect. Your little column inspired an onslaught of letters of complaint to the Ministry. Both from present students and alumni of the rehabilitation program." Surprise forced her to take a step back, wanting the full ability to study his eyes for dishonesty as he spoke.

"Complaining about me?"

"Decidedly not," An entertained smirk befitted his cautiously measured expression, "must I spell it out for you completely, Miss Jane?" Heat rose to her cheeks on only in frustration with his allusiveness but embarrassment that her identity had been revealed to one man that she never wanted to be vulnerable in front; the power of her anonymity with the column did not fully resonate with her until it had been torn out from under her and her identity had been revealed to a person whom she did not trust to respect her secret.

"By your silence, I suppose I must. Your compassion and your…loquaciousness overpowers the Ministry's by a long shot, Miss Jane. Attendees of the program wrote in frustration that they had not received proper treatment by Ministry officials and that the Ministry was," A long pause wrought in tension and anxiety hanged heavy between them as he struggled for the proper word, "neglectful in a program supposedly built to lift up those engaged in the project." A thoughtfulness was revealed in him that Hermione did not expect him to allow her to see, it was nearly vulnerable and felt incredibly intimate to watch him run his gloved fingers over the head of his cane as he avoided her gaze. Each movement he made, every word, every action, felt incredibly planned but Hermione could not figure out his ulterior motive than to deliver the Ministry's message.

"And you?" The gentility in her voice made him flinch, "Did you find the program to be neglectful?" Sympathy that she did not realize she could feel in the case of Lucius Malfoy fled through her as a look of abandoned desperation fled through Hermione. Her own writing had been from the heart and to see a man so bereft of good will from the common wizard hurt her soul. How had they come so far from discussing her column? How was it that she felt so serenely concerned over this man's problems rather than her own job security? Perhaps it was exhaustion, perhaps it was her Gryffindor tendencies that made her want to do good, to fix, to save. But whether Lucius Malfoy wanted to be saved or not was another question entirely.

"As a Ministry official, I support the Ministry's actions without question." Poor Lucius, the quiet voice in the back of her mind was exasperated with the grown man's habit of blindly following the power of those that would be most beneficial for him.

"I would not do so with such complete abandon, Mr. Malfoy." Finally, the smile she had attempted in the lobby came to fruition, it was genuine and she felt rather proud of herself for managing a smile to a man it was so easy to hate. Did pity override hate? She could not say. The blonde granted her a rare smile that seemed genuine and rather amused at her words, but then the curtain of despair fell again over his entrancing eyes. Then he was studying her quite closely with a look of complete concentration as his squinting eyes darted across the features of her face.

" _Why Jane?_ " Desperation in his gaze nearly matched the torment in his voice, she was quite taken aback and managed to stumble a step backwards as he descended in a slight bend to take a closer look at her.

"I'm sorry?" A loud clearing of his throat broke the tender gaze he had bestowed upon her, any trace of the nostalgic expression he had upon his face was erased. The aristocratic façade was back in place but Hermione was pleased to know, at least, that it was indeed a façade.

"I simply question the significance in the name Jane for you. Assuming you did pick it for yourself, I suppose?"

"Yes, I did." Again, scared to be vulnerable to a man she did not trust. One could pity without trusting, she reassured herself; her lips remained sealed after that addition.

"Ah," His eyes trailed past her desk and to the book shelf in the corner which was not only stuff full but had a precariously unbalanced stack growing on top, "a muggle reference, I presume?"

"Yes," She would not falter under his scrutiny of muggle history, "Charlotte Bronte's _Jane Eyre_ , I highly suggest it. My middle name, too, is Jean so it's rather close." Unsure of what made her reveal such an intimate fact to this man, Hermione's calm expression faltered slightly as her head tipped further back to gauge his reaction of her admission. All traces of trained manners or hospitality evacuated the room at her words and a sneer crossed his face once more,

"Yes, well, I look forward to your retraction statement, Ms. Granger. Good day." The door snapped shut behind his suddenly brooding figure and Hermione stood in the center of her office feeling horribly out of place, horribly whiplashed by the morning's tumultuous events. Anger bubbled through her and it took quite a great deal of self-control to keep from throwing any personal effects at the wall. What was she to do?

The letters that week were as banal as the previous ones and she felt herself hard-pressed to concentrate on the twittering words before her. Bitterness was not an option for Hermione Granger, not anymore she convinced herself naively that one could outgrow hurt or pain. Too old was she, in her belief, to sulk in a downtrodden state or wallow in the depression of the moment. She had faced far worse things that Lucius Malfoy's disapproving stare, the Ministry's insecure demand of a retraction statement, and her boss' insecure and blind support of the government's wishes all combined! With a huff of indignation she yanked her robe on with five minutes left in the work day and used the floor early, a rebellious air about her though she knew her small rebellion mattered not as she joined a handful of coworkers in the lift. A large rebellion it was not, but it was a rebellion all the same!

 _Dear readers,_

 _The Ministry of Magic has insisted that I issue both a retraction statement and apology for my response to The Fallen One's letter. My intention was not to undermine any of the work the Ministry is pursuing with its well-intended rehabilitation program._ _I cannot stress how important it is to be rehabilitated after the war, for those on each side of the fight. Please let it be noted that I make no claim of affiliation with this program nor with the Ministry itself. Nor, do my thoughts and opinions express those belonging to the management of the Daily Prophet. Put quite simply, I am my own being and in my opinion I believe that everyone deserves love and happiness regardless of their backgrounds. Take care, be kind, and live with love._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Miss Jane_

The retract statement was released below her usual replies and Hermione was rather pleased with her wording. She'd managed to sound compassionate and caring without giving the Ministry the pleasure of reading that she wished to retract or apologize for her words. As Minerva had said, sticking to one's beliefs was a noble act and Hermione prided herself in being noble and brave when push came to shove. So it was to her complete devastation that when she arrived home from work that evening that a larger stiff looking owl of a bland grey carried a Ministry sealed letter. With a groan, Hermione gave a knut to the bird and took the envelope that was addressed to her in black, swirling ink. Desolation seeped through her cheery mood as she peeled open the parchment to read her letter which requested her presence in one weeks' time at the Ministry of Magic to discuss her retraction statement in the Daily Prophet:

 _By request of one Mister Lucius Malfoy in respect of Miss Hermione Jean Granger's blatant disrespect and slander against the Minister of Magic, himself._

A loud screech of frustration swept from her lips, much to Crookshanks' annoyance as Hermione balled the summons into a ball that she had to restrain from hurling into the fire. Blood boiling and fingers clenching, Hermione copied the crumpled letter onto fresh parchment and attached a note,

 _Harry,_

 _Sorry to inconvenience you at this hour, feel free to share this with Ginny though I'm sure you're already reading this out loud. I hate to call names, as you know, but Lucius Malfoy is a right bastard! How was I so blind to his motives?! Please respond quickly with word of whether you might be willing to support me in this case, I fear I may need your word and legacy with me while facing Shacklebolt._

 _Best wishes and much love,_

 _Hermione_

She'd sent the letter with a flourish of her wand and waited in agitation while she slammed pots and pans around in an attempt at dinner. Furious was a tame word to describe the feeling coursing through her veins. Lucius Malfoy was a backstabbing traitor, same as he had always been. Not only had he belied her identity to the Ministry (and who knew who else) but he had admitted to her exactly what the Ministry's fears were in some sort of confidence, an attempt to gain her trust, before completely disregarding their interaction. He was a good for nothing cad and Hermione was infuriated with herself for ever pitying the weak excuse for a man.

"In fact," Her high pitched voice was pointed to the blasé looking feline prowling around her ankles, "I bet that entire meeting was just an act to get me to feel sorry for him! He put on a whole performance for my benefit, making me thinking the Ministry was scared of me and really he was there to sabotage me. Blindside me just for the sake of humiliating another muggle-born—he hasn't changed one bit!" Chest heaving and curly tendrils flouncing around her shoulders, Hermione was out of breath with her frustrated ranting. More tears of frustration were threatening to pour when Harry's response arrived,

 _Hermione,_

 _You know I'll be there to do anything I can to help. You'll have to fill me in on everything, I think I'm missing pieces of the story. I'm not understanding his motivation. Let's meet for lunch tomorrow. Don't stress, we'll get this sorted out. Ginny says hello!_

 _With love,_

 _Harry_

Hermione wasn't completely positive how she ended up sitting at the Weasley's kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea set in front of her, but she was pleased to be there all the same. Ginny had charged up the stairs about twenty minutes into Hermione's visit with Molly, drenched in mud and stinking of sweat but grinning ear to ear, but had not yet descended. Curiously, Harry had wandered through the front door about five minutes behind Ginny supposedly looking for George but he had not descended yet neither.

"Well Lucius Malfoy is an awful man, Hermione, we all know that." Molly had listened sympathetically to Hermione's tale while busying herself in the kitchen. Now she stood shucking the hair off the corn while the dishes magicked themselves to completion behind her bustling form.

"That much is obvious to me now, I don't know how I ever gave him the benefit of the doubt! And to think, I was the one standing up for his rights! _He_ has the audacity to bring me to trial!" Taking a big gulp, her mouth and tongue were scorched and her eyes watered at the burn but anything to get the taste of defeat out of her mouth felt worthwhile.

"You'll figure it out, Hermione, you always do." Though Molly's voice wasn't quite as convincing as Hermione needed it to be in that moment.

 **Don't forget reviews are much appreciated. I hope you're all enjoying :)**


	6. Grief

**Thanks for your patience as I continue to piece this story together! I hope you enjoy this chapter and all have a happy start to your weekend.**

The cold wood of the seat was nothing compared to the sight of her pale arms besides the imposing chains atop the arms of the chair. Sitting in the center of the room was even more intimidating than she had imagined it back in her fifth year when Harry had explained his hearing to her. Staring down at her was no less than fifty witches and wizards, all of varying ages and backgrounds, who looked as if they had had already made up their mind of whether or not she was guilty. Kingsley sat across from her, though quite a ways higher up than she was, and his attempted smile of comfort was much grimmer than he probably intended.

To her right Harry sat in the rows of stands in silence, their tension only fueling her timidity as she scanned the hall for other familiar faces. Harry's nervous thumbs up would have made her laugh had the circumstances been any different, but then she only managed a weak smile and turned back to face what was obviously her inevitable doom. Lucius' upturned nose stood out to her rather later than she would have imagined, then realization dawned upon her that he was late. What an insolent git, the words repeated themselves over and over as she watched the tall man make his way to sit in the stalls to her left. Of course, he would be representing himself as her prosecutor if they needed to hear from him to support his claims. He did not meet her gaze but rather glanced down his nose at the rest of the room in an arrogant scan that made her blood boil.

"You are Miss Hermione Jean Granger?" The urge to slap Kingsley was wrangled down by her great want to be able to garner a job in the future.

"I am."

"And you are the woman behind the _Dear Jane_ column in the Daily Prophet?" She hesitated for only a moment but Kingsley's look of defeat prompted her to comply,

"I am."

"And you were aware that the Ministry wished you to issue a redaction statement."

"I was and I did."

"That is to be debated, Miss Granger." It was Lucius who spoke, his voice was warm but his piercing eyes refused to meet her's, instead his gaze was fixed rather pointedly on the Minister of Magic.

"Right, Mr. Malfoy if you would read Miss Granger's statement." So he did. It was quite the orderly hearing, although she felt as if she was given very little platform to state her case. She listened to Malfoy read her work aloud with a little bit of pride and chanced a glance over at Harry, who flashed her a weak smile that she failed to return.

"It is very clear, Minister, that Miss Granger showed no true remorse in her statement and blatantly disregarded the Ministry's hard work put into the rehabilitation program." Lucius' words practically made Hermione see red,

"That is ridiculous!" The young witch moved to stand and the chains of the chair wriggled in warning, the cuffs of the shackles threatening to close around her wrists; shocked, Hermione remained seated with a glare of accusation pointed at Lucius who had an unreadable expression upon his face. It was probably smugness, Hermione decided, though it didn't at all resemble the proud smirk of his son. "Minster, please."

Kingsley nodded, granting her permission to state her case.

"I don't know what else there is to say except there is a disclaimer that runs on every edition saying that my opinions don't reflect the Ministry's or the Prophet's. I'm simply giving my own opinions on different issues. Our editor, his name is Geoff Tifflace approved the article. I don't understand what is so offensive about what I'm writing. The redaction is honest, it states the happenings surrounding my writing in full truth, and there is nothing that I withheld. What is so offensive about the truth?" Harry recognized her tone as dangerously calm; the kind of calm that came before she had a true breakdown, he'd heard the same coolness in her voice in the fifth year when she dealt with Ron and Lavender.

"What is _so offensive_ , Miss Granger," Kingsley's cold voice made her eyebrows raise, she'd never seen him so confrontational and especially not to a fellow Order member, "is your blatant disregard for authority." Had she heard those words before? "Your column has brought great disruption to the Ministry, by ignoring Lucius' orders to issue a proper and _**sincere**_ apology you have lost your right to continue this column if so voted. All those in favor of-"

"Wait! Minister, please! I did not personally disrupt the Ministry, I don't see why I should be punished for other people's actions. I was not the one who owled the Ministry nor am I the one whom so many participants of the rehabilitation program feel is lacking in case. I won't write about the program anymore, if that is what the Ministry wishes. Perhaps it should be those who lack care towards their rehabilitating that should be punished, not some columnist. This would be unreasonable any other way!" Her voice shook, yes, but she knew she could never forgive herself if she did not try every tactic she could think of to keep her job and column safe.

Out of the corner of her eye, Harry was viciously shaking his head in warning and it was only later that night at dinner that Hermione learned from Arthur the rehabilitation program was Kingsley's personal project that he still held a watchful eye over.

"No, Miss Granger, those are not the charges."

"I request a recess!" Again, she nearly stood were it not for the slithering chains of the wretched chair. A cold dread filled her as a low murmur rose throughout the crowd. Pride restrained her from glancing over at Lucius Malfoy, the smug bastard; although she could feel his eyes boring into her skull.

"Denied. May I say, Miss Granger, I find it is _your_ behavior that is unbearably unreasonable. I suggest you take more care in future occasions to respect the wishes of the Ministry. For now, we vote. All in vote of charging the defendant as guilty, say aye." A wave of hands rose and a chorus of ayes echoed in her ears. She wished the floor would swallow her up. "All those in favor of Miss Granger's innocence." Not a single vote for her innocence. Tears welled before she could stop them. Biting her lip in frustration and in hopes of stopping the tears from rolling, Hermione stared up at Kingsley with a look of utter disbelief.

"Miss Granger you have been charged as guilty for slander against the Ministry of Magic. Your column will be removed from the Daily Prophet and your severance will serve as your fine for your act of indecency. Good day." The chorus of chairs scraping against wood sent shivers down her spine that matched the discomfort of Harry rushing to her side.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. It's going to be ok." Harry wrapped his arms around her immediately, though she didn't really register his hug or mumbled, kind words. Devastation overwhelmed her and she vaguely wondered if her knees were going to give out. Fury clenched her fingers into her palms and she wondered if her nails would cut through her skin.

"Let's just go, Harry, please." Over her friends shoulder she made accidental eye contact with Lucius Malfoy whose face revealed nothing, though it was not the usual blank slate that she remembered from childhood. No, there was a look of great need on his face that she could not recall seeing before; but need for what she did not know, it was not his life that was being destroyed at the moment. Perhaps it was a need to memorize the sight of her life crumbling before his very eyes thanks to him.

"Fuck you" slipped from her lips as frustrated tears slipped from her eyes and a pink flush rose in his high cheekbones. It was not that she loved the column so much, it was that she had been thwarted again by a Death Eater. When would this fighting stop? Could she never help people without cruelty intervening? Would the rest of her life be summarized by attempting to overcome evils just so she could live in peace? A numbness she recognized from the days after she wiped her parents' memories buzzed through her brain. So this was how it would be, she finally understood.

Harry pushed her to the exit and to the lift. They rode in silence in an empty cart, though Lucius Malfoy had been walking quite stealthily behind them; the look Harry had shot the older man as they stepped into the lift had stopped him from joining them. Piercing blue eyes met her watery brown as the lift doors rolled shut, his extended hand unable to stop the metal as a softness filled his stare. More static numb filled her brain as tears silently tripped down her cheeks. All Hermione could think about was the absolute injustice of the entire ordeal. They'd barely allowed her to speak; she knew it wasn't even really a crime and that they just needed an excuse to shut down any talk that wasn't positive advertisement for the government. Resentment and frustration brought more tears to her eyes and Harry wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder that truly did help.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, even though everyone was in attendance. She found herself sitting across from Lavender and feeling extremely self-pitying which Ginny said was completely understandable, but made Hermione even more upset with herself. It was hard not to wallow though when her failures were put so obviously on display by the accomplishments of those around her. Harry had his dream job and been promoted already, Ginny was playing professional Quidditch, Ron had a stable and prestigious job, Lavender was selling her own brand of perfume which supposedly masked "the smell of the wolf" and was doing quite well, and George had kept the business alive and flourishing.

Then on top of that Harry and Ginny were engaged, Ron and Lavender were living together, and George had happily been seeing Angelina for months. Hermione had never felt so alone in the entirety of her life. Her job had been taken away from her and she was despairingly single; not that she had really cared in the past, but now she was feeling bereft of the comfort those around her so obviously had. That thought caused her a great heave of a gasp in the middle of dessert which she covered with a cough, pretending to have choked on her water. She apparated home with a heavy heart, but a full stomach, grateful that her friends knew well enough not to attempt to cheer her up when she just needed time to grieve.

Grief was not something Hermione was well studied in. For someone who had been surrounded by death and destruction for most of her life, she had not properly allowed herself a lot of time to grieve. Dumbledore's death had struck her the deepest but even that she had moved passed with surprising quickness, considering she had not been extremely close to the man. Obliviating her parents memories was another moment that had taken a toll on her mental health, but even then she knew it was her own decision and for their safety so she hadn't really allowed a grief period. When she'd found them after the war they weren't upset and didn't grieve for their lost year but celebrated their reunion. That was how she was raised: to focus on the positives, only try to control what you can control, study hard and succeed with honesty.

Yet, for someone without much practice in grief, Hermione allowed herself to indulge. Donning a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, she buried herself beneath her covers without anything nutritious to eat unless one counted ice cream and potato chips as vegetables. She refused visitors, ignored Ginny and Harry's owls, and buried herself in her books. It wasn't a period in her life that she was proud of, but she allowed the indulgence in great belief that she truly deserved it. On her fifth day of not showering, eating utter rubbish, and looking a bit like a trash raccoon—and owl arrived that sparked her interest, it was from Harry.

 _Hermione,_

 _We're just going to keep writing, whether you answer or not. Kingsley sent this memo out today and I thought you should take a look. Just owl when you're ready for our company, we miss you._

 _Love,_

 _Harry_

Some sense of masochism had kept her reading her friends' owls without responding to them and when she'd unfurled the parchment he attached, she was suddenly grateful for that self-destructive tendency.

 _Ministry Officials,_

 _Please let it be noted that degradation of the Ministry of Magic in any regards will not be tolerated. We are living in an age where wartime sensibilities have been adapted and must now be taught to be abandoned. This is a zero-tolerance policy across the board for all witches and wizards that will be enforced strictly. We have attached a list of previous occurrences of treason and/or disrespect to the Ministry of Magic. Note that this is not a list of reformed citizens, but a list that includes both war heroes and wizards in the Reconstructive Rehabilitation Program alike. To report misspoken wizards and witches please contact the Auror office._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Kingsley Shacklebolt_

 _Ministry of Magic_

Hermione scanned the list and was surprised that the list of names consisted mainly of ex-Death Eaters, though Lucius Malfoy's name was suspiciously absent, much to her chagrin. It was no surprise that her name was listed there, here Harry had circled it, as if she could miss it.

 _Granger, Hermione_ _(alias Miss Jane) – Charged with slander against the Ministry of Magic for written words in her Daily Prophet column "Dear Jane."_

Beneath that, her heart dropped as she read onward, was a listing that filled Hermione with absolute guilt and shame.

 _Groslig, Maximus – Charged with slander against the Ministry of Magic for written complaints regarding the Reconstructive Rehabilitation Program in response to a one "Dear Jane" column_

"Fuck." Stumbling over an annoyed and hissing Crookshanks, Hermione grappled her body out from under the twisted sheets and covers to run to the kitchen. Fit in only a tank top, a pair of white knickers, and fuzzy socks that she'd knit in Gryffindor colors Hermione pushed her knotted hair out of her unwashed (and admittedly, somewhat greasy) face to lean over her kitchen counter and shakily write out a letter to Harry.

 _Harry,_

 _I think we should speak in person. I'm sorry for the delay; I would love to have you and Ginny over for dinner tonight say 6 o'clock? Hope to see you then!_

 _With love,_

 _Hermione_

Their acceptance response came in the form of an owl rapping at her bathroom window as hurriedly showered in an attempt to wash disappointment, regret, and failure out of her hair.

Harry made a point of being prompt, which meant dragging Ginny out from in front of the mirror. Which meant upon arrival, Ginny hurriedly kissed Hermione on the cheek before disappearing into the bathroom with her makeup clutch.

"The girliest Quidditch player in the history of the sport!" Harry yelled after her cheekily, before pulling Hermione into a tight hug. He'd experienced a lot of pain in his life, Hermione knew, and nobody knew exactly what a person in grief needed like Harry did. A hushed whisper against her ear made her eyes tear up,

"I know you think we don't understand, 'Mione, but we do. Your work is like a person to you and we know you've lost them."

All Hermione could do was accept his words, for the frog in her throat was suddenly too large to speak around. Clutching onto her friend for dear life, she let out a strangled sob and moments later felt the lithe arms of Ginny surrounding her, as well. For a few quiet moments they stood in a tight embrace, Hermione's head resting against Harry's chest and Ginny's head resting between the brunette's shoulder blades. Eventually, Hermione let out a hiccupped laugh and wiped her eyes with embarrassed apologies,

"I'm so sorry, I just don't know where to go from here."

"You'll figure it out and until you do, you've got us." Ginny's promise was sealed with a beaming smile.

They talked about the last few days and Hermione omitted any the embarrassing details that included falling asleep with a wine glass in her hand and staining her bedspread (thank Merlin for magic), crying in the shower, and neglecting to brush her teeth or wash her face for the entirety of her time in isolation.

"What is Kingsley playing at with that memo?" Ginny spoke with a mouthful of pasta in a way that reminded Hermione greatly of Ron and she couldn't help but wonder how Harry stomached their similarities. Her friends' presence was refreshing and she felt a smile breaking out across her cheeks even as she responded in, what she knew was, a gloomy manner.

"It's obvious, isn't it? Kingsley's insecure about his work as Minister and is taking it out on all of us. If people can't say he's doing a bad job, then he must be doing a good job." She'd already finished her pasta and had the list of names laid out on the table for them all to peer at, "I mean look at these names, this is absolutely ridiculous. It's nearly all Death Eaters, if that's not prejudice I don't know what is."

"So what? I'd be more concerned about your name being on there more than anything, Hermione. This isn't going to look good on your spotless record." If any other person had spoken Hermione knew their voice would be full of sarcasm fueled by annoyance at her perfectionist habits, but Ginny spoke with true concern.

"I know, but at least the rest of my record _is_ spotless. A lot of these people are just trying to restart their lives after the war and at least a dozen of these people are on here for writing in with complaints about a topic I brought up!"

"Look, we'd rather them complain now about lack of respect than revolt latter because of it." Harry's words were true, but guilt still weighed heavy on Hermione' shoulders. "Just sit tight, Hermione, we'll figure this out."

"Yeah," Hermione added with a small grin, "we always do."

She went to bed that evening with an easier mind. It was easier because it was busier, which was quite a relief to the bookworm who cuddled into her pillows with her warm cat by her side and her toes wrapped tightly in her favorite Gryffindor colored socks. Brown curly locks splayed out across the milky pillowcases and a loud yawn escaped her as she stretched up to the ceiling, clenching and releasing her muscles with a satisfied mewl. Things were messy in the wizarding world and thus good in Hermione Granger's heart, for when things were amuck she went to work. It was just when her body had relaxed into the mattress and her thoughts were slowly dwindling off to the place somewhere between being awake and asleep that a quick scratching noise startled her into an upright position. Only a few moments of listening intently to the noise lead her into her bathroom where she pried open the shower window and let in a rather regale looking owl. The penmanship on the envelope shocked her into very nearly dropping the letter all together. It was him, the Fallen One, he'd written her at her home address.

With a pounding heart and trembling fingers she quickly searched for an owl treat before locking the window and carrying the letter into her bedroom. Crookshanks looked accosted by the whole situation and Hermione felt flustered as yellow eyes followed her pacing form across the length of her bedroom. This man knew her identity, the fact that the entire wizarding world knew her alias hadn't quite sunk in until that moment. Suddenly, she found herself hoping that she hadn't given harsh advice to anyone she actually knew. Heart pounding and fingers barely done trembling, Hermione broke the blank seal and pulled out the thick parchment and with anxious eyes she took in the royal blue ink:

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I was sorry to hear about your sudden unemployment. This information comes as no surprise to me, honesty can only be allowed to a certain extent in these times and under this regime. Strength and knowledge are not traits looked fondly upon by oppressors, Miss Granger, I encourage you to remember that. You are a bright woman and I would not count on you to dim your lights for any man. I trust that by this age you are aware of your intimidating nature and how a man in power might not appreciate being questioned by a columnist with brilliances more expansive than his imagination could begin to muster._

 _If there was a strand of employment I believe I could offer you that would stimulate and interest you in that you deserve, I would make that offer. Alas, I know not what business you would like to find yourself pursuing. May I assume it is safe to believe you wish to continue a career in writing? Your talent is uncanny and greatly admired, but of course, you already know this. Honesty in your response is greatly appreciated and I will apply myself in a vast search for you as a token of my gratitude._

 _I cannot help but feel it is I whom you blame for your termination at the Daily Prophet. No matter how I grieve for your loss, I feel it is necessary that I point out that you published my second response without my complete consent. Anonymity is of utmost importance to me, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, I believe you are now learning what it is to have anonymity ripped from beneath your feet. Do not fall, Miss Granger, but float in that space between what you need to do and what others believe you have done. You will persevere, you shall conquer. Remember: fight, fight, fight._

 _Merlin I've written a novel for you. I anxiously await your response, with sincere hopes that you will reply with a career option in mind. I am as anonymous as I am influential, Miss Granger, name the position and I will do all that I can to assist you. It goes without saying that with your resume, talent, and ambition my help is unnecessary but I am compelled to make this offer all the same._

 _Urging you to remember that your mind and efforts were wasted with the fools at the Prophet,_

 _The Fallen One_

 **I hope by now we've all figured out The Fallen One's identity. Let me know what you think!**


	7. The Friendliest Flower

**Sorry for the delay! Classes started back up this week so I was incredibly busy. Thank you all for the kind reviews, I really appreciate the feedback! This chapter is extra long as both an apology and a thank you!**

 **Also, the latter half of the chapter has dialogue and situations taken nearly word-for-word from Nora Ephron's** _ **You've Got Mail**_ **. Just felt I should give her that credit, I'm a really big fan of the movie. Obviously I don't imagine Tom Hanks as Lucius nor Meg Ryan as Hermione, but I loved the dialogue so much that I had to borrow.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

 _Friend,_

 _Meet me at Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley at half past noon if you are serious about your offer. I look forward to meeting you. I will be the one in Gryffindor colors holding a flower._

 _Best,_

 _Jane_

In a state of anxiety Hermione sent the owl only minutes after reading the kind letter. It was hours before a response arrived and it was with shaking fingers she tore open the envelope and quickly searched the parchment for confirmation or rejection. If it was rejection she wasn't sure what she would do, perhaps she wished he just wouldn't answer at all if it was rejection.

 _Friend,_

 _Excitement flows through me at your invitiation. It would be my pleasure to take you to lunch as well. Until noon._

 _Cordially,_

 _Your Friend_

Hermione dressed with caution the day after receiving The Fallen One's letter. Mutual excitement and anxiety put her on an edge she could not describe, but she knew she could not be late. With her hair in a messy bun and dressed in warm reds and yellows, she apparated to Diagon Alley desperately clutching a rose. The sight of future Hogwarts students bustling through the streets, hands begrudgingly clutched in their parents' as they were ushered from shop to shop brought her cheer. There was no doubt that she was getting strange looks from passersby, looks that she knew weren't just from her war heroine status, these were new looks. It was really the first outing she had made since her hearing, she'd nearly forgotten that the rest of the world would know all of that personal information. More than once she was called out to, more often in thanks for her positive advice than in disgruntlement about unappreciated advice—though that came, too. It was hard to be bothered by the interruptions in her day as the damp autumn air tickled her lungs and pinched her cheeks to pink. The gentle _click clack_ of her shoes against the cobblestones was comforting as she allowed herself to be slightly jostled by the busy crowds, she hadn't really considered that school would be starting soon. Butterbeer and caramel apple tickled her nose as the scents of fall embraced her as much as the harassed sounds of mothers and fathers calling out to children amused her.

Slightly overwhelmed by the crowds and the bubbling anxiety within her, but enjoying the noise and excitement all the same, Hermione found her way to Flourish & Blotts and ducked into the entryway with a grin. Now _this_ was joy. Allowing herself to be lost in the novels surrounding her, Hermione slowly but surely made her way through the great shelves sporting the books. It was half past noon already, but she reasoned that not every wizard functioned with the strict policy of punctuality that she did. Moving down the aisles with leisure she plucked books from the towering aisles and skimmed through them, perusing in search for something that could transport her to a world quite unlike hers. Fifteen minutes past and soon it turned to a half hour, she pretended not to notice the tardiness buy busying herself with shopping. Perhaps her friend was engrossed in book shopping or stuck in the bustling traffic happening outside, that was not an impossible option.

Often, she searched for books stocked full of factoids and informational histories that could fill her with new knowledge and exciting backgrounds; but then, Hermione just needed an escape. It was with this in mind that she tossed an educational piece back onto a shelf and as she was reaching for a book to exchange it with the wooding shelving unit gave out and books began to topple loudly to the floor. Cracking wood sounded eerily like the cracking of bones. The slamming noises made her jump backwards as books bumped loudly against each other and the snapped wood, to slap onto the dirty floor of the shop. Shocked into a state of immobility Hermione watched as the top shelf snapped in the middle, in what felt like slow motion to the witch, and books poured downward—then suddenly froze in midair.

"Well," A lush voice spoke with amusement from behind her, "it certainly can no longer be contested that you are much stronger than you appear." The speaker had obviously watched her toss the book that had broken the camel's back and caused the wood to collapse. Hermione's mind was drawn to the pictures of the Weasley's in Egypt that were contained in dusty picture frames all over the burrow. Maybe if she refused to turn to look to that horrible man he would disappear and she would never have to face him again.

"I didn't do it on purpose." The need to defend herself was forever present around Lucius Malfoy. With an easy flourish of his wand, the wood repaired itself and the books drifted back onto the shelves—and in order for that matter.

"No, I don't recall claiming that you did." The blonde's voice was filled with much more amusement than her's was, she imagined a smug smile on his thin lips. Then she imagined slapping that smug smile off and finally turned to face him and his haughtily raised eyebrows.

"I just thought I should clarify in case you wished to invent a case that would ban me from reading as well as writing." Hatred seethed in her as she glared up at him, she had realized only when she turned to face him just how close he stood. Too close, her arm wouldn't need to extend fully for her fingers to brush against the velvet of his blacker than black robes. His eyes flashed and a coy smirk pulled pale lips apart to reveal shining teeth as he looked down his nose at her glowering form.

"Ah, Miss Granger let's not be hostile. You should know as well as I do that I had to report you for the safety of my own position."

"Charming, you're just as much as a coward as you are a snitch. Now please leave me alone, Mister Malfoy, I'm waiting for a friend." He glanced around dramatically, swinging his head about like a ridiculous cartoon character from when she was child, though he looked much more adult than any of her cartoon characters ever had.

"I don't recall seeing your little friends here."

"I'm not waiting for Ron or Harry."

"Ah," A knowing smirk spread his lips, "a date. So, where is your fellow? You're quite alone back here. Is he late? Perhaps he's caught in the trouble outside, though he could always floo in." He spoke slowly and challenged her all the while with sarcasm evident in his suggestion. Deciding she would no longer tolerate his cruelty nor being stood up by a stranger she had never met she excused herself,

"Good day, Mister Malfoy." With a none-too-gentle shove of her shoulder against his side, Hermione made to move away from him, but a firm grasp on her wrist tugged her form quite close to his much larger one.

A startled gasp escaped her throat as her eyes delved quickly from the sight of his pale fingers grasped tightly around her small wrist to his blue eyes studying her closely. Hermione was struck incapable of moving more from the jolt of his proximity than from force in touch; he was much gentler than she would have expected him to be and his skin much smoother. Brown eyes locked on the site of his white fingers wrapped around her tanner skin and her stomach flip flopped at the realization that the warmth of his palm was soft and nearly comforting against her arm, which she suddenly faired felt coarse and uncivil to him. Then he bent so that his lips were just brushing her ear as he murmured in the softest tone she had her a Malfoy adopt yet,

"Believe me, Miss Granger, I took no pleasure in your dethroning. I beg your forgiveness but accept your hatred all the same." The low tremble of his voice matched with the softness of lips against her burning ears left her frozen as he pulled away, releasing his grasp on her wrist finger by delicate finger.

The scent of clean, but masculine, cologne invaded her senses and swayed her focus. All the same, his captivating eyes kept her enraptured as they studied her closely. For a moment then she wondered what he was seeing; wondered if he found her as intriguing as she found him then with his silken hair framing his strong features. The softest blush she had ever seen on a living human tainted cheekbones that looked as if they could have been chiseled out of ice; was he as effected by their sudden proximity as much as she had been? When his last finger released her wrist, she was bereaved of his presence and briefly wondered why she had to straighten her posture to keep in balance; if she had been leaning in it was only to hear him better, not to feel the electric warmth that seemed to radiate from his lean figure, at least that's what she told herself.

"I don't need apologies from an insincere cad."

Blue eyes held her gaze in a tight lock, his stare was hard but there was no frown or smile on his face as he spoke again in his gravelly tenor,

"I must meet Draco. Good day, Miss Granger."

"Mister Malfoy." Hermione wasn't sure if her response was heard as he had already disappeared from the aisle, stalking off in that way of his that left shockwaves in his wake. She shopped the rest of the day with a rather absent mind, the strength in his words permeating her thoughts as much as his cologne had flustered her mind.

It was that night that Hermione returned home to her humble apartment and felt as if she was going to have a breakdown soon if something didn't give. Nobody won in war, she wanted to explain to anyone who would listen as she pulled the diamond studs out of her ears, there was only those who survived and managed to carry on afterwards. Good had conquered evil, this mantra rang true in her mind as she tugged her scarf over her head and wrapped it around the hook on the wall. Yes, good had conquered evil. So now the good had to take care of the evil, but who was going to take care of the good?

Staring into the mirror, Hermione attempted to see what others saw. She couldn't remember a time in her life when she felt more hopeless, there had always been a cause for her to fight for: whether it had been for good grades, the greater good or her own life the witch had always been fighting. A soft, long exhale left her body as pale hands clutched the white mouth of her sink and she leaned herself forward. A flash of much paler, stronger, masculine, elegant fingers wrapped around her wrist completely invaded the privacy of her mind. She didn't want to think about her own flustered presence around Malfoy, not now.

Voluminous curls framed soft cheeks, gold-rimmed brown eyes stared back at her from either side of her rather wide nose. A thin top lip rested above a plump lower lip, both the soft pink of a spring rose. Pretty. Hermione Granger was pretty. Smart. Hermione Granger was smart, more than smart, really. Hermione Granger was brilliant. Talented. Hermione Granger was talented. A smile parted her lips and her reflection smiled back at her with bright eyes, Hermione Granger was a capable woman and was going to be completely fine. A relief she didn't understand flooded through her as her smile seemed to be some sort of confirmation. Something clicked then, that to do any justice for all those who had died, she was going to have to keep moving forward. Once she got to the bottom of the injustice of the Ministry, she would be fine. More than fine, Hermione Granger was going to be great, because she was great. The only question was: what did she want to be great at?

After her affirmations had been chanted and hope was rekindled in the pit of her stomach, she pulled the letter from The Fallen One out from the drawer she had stuffed it in. Guilt had seeped into her when he had reminded her that she had posted his second letter without his permission, she'd omitted that fact from the public eye. Having believed in karma for most of her life, she wondered if the Ministry's atrocious behavior toward her was some sort of eye-for-an-eye treatment from the universe but brushed this thought off quickly. There was no conceivable way that publishing that letter had devastated him nearly as much as losing her job had devastated Hermione. Sitting at the neat pine wood desk, dainty fingers pulled a piece of parchment to the center. With the newest plume quill in her collection, Hermione began a response.

 _Dear Fallen One,_

 _Where were you? It does not seem like you to go back on your word. If you did not want to meet, you simply could have said so. Selfishly, I hope some incredible accident kept you from travelling out or owling in._

 _Still, I feel obliged to thank you for reaching out to me and thank you, more so, for you offer to assist me in looking for my next career. I have something in mind but it would be tricky and of a dubious nature. Does your offer still stand?_

 _It seems unfair, might I add, that you are in full knowledge of my identity but I don't know yours. This leaves me nervous, how can I know that I can trust you? Especially now with your faltering ability to maintain social plans, I doubt you._

 _It feels as if I am sending you a list of questions, but with your responses I will know how safe it is for myself to answer. Hopefully, you will sympathize with my wariness in light of recent circumstances._

 _Furthermore, I wish to beg your forgiveness for publishing your words without your full consent. It was wrong and I have no excuse but my own selfishness. My thoughts are that you have forgiven me but please correct me if I am in the wrong, it feels as if I am wrong._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Miss Jane_

The response came as Hermione sat for breakfast the next morning with her legs curled up under her on the bar chair and an automatically refilling mug of tea sat before her. The Prophet was quickly pushed aside and the familiar envelope with the elegant handwriting was pulled forward, her cereal was forgotten as quickly as the morning newspaper.

 _Dear Miss Jane,_

 _It would be impossible for me to write enough apologies to truly earn your forgiveness so I shall only write one: I am sorry for not showing up nor for letting you know in advance. I was rendered incapable by a sudden change in family events, there was nothing I could do about the situation. Perhaps one day we can finally meet, when I prove that I can gain and deserve your trust._

 _If you intend to keep signing with your alias, I feel it is important that I shall keep my identity secret, for now. This rule stands even firmer as I say that the dubious nature of your future plans do not concern me. You do not know my name, but I am in full belief that you have become familiar with my nature. Right and wrong are not concerns in my family, but strengths and weaknesses are taken into consideration. Tell me, Miss Jane, are you targeting the strong that have made you weak or do you have indiscreet plans to help the weak become strong? I trust you of all people hold concern for our well-being in the highest regards._

 _It is important to me that you are aware that your questions are not bothersome to me. I value your curiosity as much as I value_ [here the words "our honest" were crossed out with a single line and Hermione smiled at the idea that he wanted her to know he felt their interaction was intimate but was not bold enough to say so outright] _interaction. Since the war, I have become a quiet man. It is hard to know who to trust in a time when rehabilitation is being forced upon us all. Not all of my past-alliances welcome the changes I am making in my life and not all of those without a treacherous past forgive my sins as easily as others. The line I walk is a thin one, Miss Jane._

 _You are forgiven though your mistake has cost me dearly, I've had questionings because of the publishing. I've had to lie to someone I hold dear. I cannot put blame directly on your shoulders for this. The information you published was all truth as it was the story of my life that I am slowly making amends for, but to lie and cause them pain was a task I did not realize would bring such anguish._

 _As for how you know that you can trust me, I suppose that you cannot know that information with any security. You can only take my word that I mean you no harm, wish no ill intent upon you, and want only to assist you. But what good is the word of a reformed Death Eater, Miss Jane? It is without irony or causticness that I ask you this. What is the value of my word? I say that you can trust me and that I trust you, but how much value does my word hold to you?_

 _Here's hope that you are well,_

 _The Fallen One_

The letter had her more excited than she had felt in some time. His apology was simple but she felt herself forgiving. The snub had bruised her ego, but he had already made it clear in past letters that he had a complicated family situation. Hermione forgave him. Change was on the horizon, she could feel it in her bones and the bubbling energy in the pit of her stomach that whatever she had to look forward to was traveling toward her quickly. On a second reading of the letter, she took into account the author's use of the term "we" in context with "the weak." Unsure of whether her heart ached for his broken attitude or reassured of her cause by his obvious seeking for help and attending to, Hermione pulled parchment toward her and penned an owl to Harry to meet her sooner rather than later as they had very much to discuss indeed.

"This is mental, Hermione." The more Harry repeated this (not-argued but true) sentiment the wider the grin spread across his face. It was obvious that trouble had been missing from their lives, there was a thrill to fighting crime but Hermione had a feeling that both Harry and Ron missed the rush that accompanied breaking rules.

"I know, but I think it's important."

"Oh I do, too," Harry nodded aggressively as he spoke, watching her pace across her living room from beside his spot next to Ron on her little loveseat, "I still think it's mental, though."

"That's because its, but he says he can spread the word to everyone who he knows would be interested. Then word of mouth could spread it from there. Anyone who wants to be properly rehabilitated can join. We could use the coins again, Harry, you know this is important." She spoke as if she expected Harry to argue, both knowing it would be Ron who would play Devil's Advocate in the situation. It was Ron who felt as if he had lost the most and neither of his best friends' felt they could argue with him, though Harry had indiscreetly dropped mentions of his entire dead family into multiple conversations to fall on Ron's deaf ears.

"Hermione, you've got to be kidding me. You don't even know this man's name, he could be baiting you to turn you in."

"Don't be ridiculous, why would he be doing that?" The same giddy sensation that had spread through her limbs and made her heart bounce in excitement so many times in her past was tingling through her as she beamed at Harry, ready to work out the details in their project.

"The consequences aren't detention with Umbridge, 'Mione listen to me, this could mean Azkaban. They shut down your article for you stating your own opinions if they hear you're creating your own club of Death Eaters, blimey…" Determination was blinding, she knew that, but she was acting logically not emotionally. She'd stopped pacing to listen to her ex-boyfriend who had shaken his hands at her in frustration, as if her watching that act would shake sense into her. Crookshanks was weaving about her ankles in a figure eight, his old-age clouded eyes glaring at her red-headed friend in concurrence with his owner.

"Don't you think I've considered that, Ronald? I trust him, you can read our correspondence and see for yourself but if you doubt him from here on out you will be doubting me. I give you my assurance that he is reliable."

"I trust you, 'Mione, I do but….you don't even know his name." Silence answered his pleading eyes so he turned then to Harry, "Come on, tell her this bloody mental, Harry. Tell her she's mad."

"Sorry Ron, I'm with Hermione on this. They need better treatment, we need to fix this before they start a mutiny." Harry's green eyes stayed focuses on his crossed legs as he spoke but out of the corner of his eye he could see Ron rising angrily to his feet.

"This _is_ a mutiny! You're getting a bunch of Death Eaters together, how do you think this is gonna go? 'Oh hi I'm Hermione Granger and this is Harry Potter, hello there Death Eaters who tried to kill us for years—are you ready to be turned into a bunch of mudblood lovers?'" Any resemblance of patience from Harry snapped as he stood quickly to shout,

"Ron! How dare you use that term!"

"I was being them, oh Harry come on! I'm trying to show you how ridiculous-" Ron's ears and cheeks were red, the same as they had been in every argument she could ever recall having with him. It was funny to look back and think that she had once loved the sight of his ears turning red with passion, how she would kiss him after arguments and call his flushed demeanor charming.

"No I know exactly what you're doing, Ronald." Hermione's voice was deadly calm, she'd stood quietly and allowed him to berate her for the last time, "You don't have faith in me or this cause. I understand that, you're too prejudiced to see that helping the weaker reform they will join us and help us. We don't know where Shacklebolt's head is, we don't know what the Ministry is doing. We need all of the assurance we can get. You supported Remus when he tried to band werewolves onto the Orders' side, you supported Hagrid when he went to speak to the giants—but why would you support me while I fight for our rights? You're absolutely bloody right, Ronald, that would be ridiculous!" Her voice had risen in volume with each statement and it had taken a great amount of self-control to yell at him rather than hex him. Memories of birds flying after his head all those years ago in the abandoned classroom as she'd watched him with Lavender Brown only boiled her blood even further. Feeling quite satisfied with her speech she cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks burning red with fury,

"Ronald, if you do not want to join us that is your decision but please don't involve yourself only to back out later, again. I don't think I could handle the inconsistency." Looking back on her statement later that night, Hermione knew it had been awfully low of her to resurface his abandonment when they'd been searching for horcruxes but she couldn't help it. Was it so horrible that she was exhausted of his refusal to trust her decisions and judgement?

"I'm just trying to look out for you, 'Mione." Harry was shuffling his face, toeing the top of one sneaker with the other as Ron's voice grew quiet.

"I don't need a babysitter, in case you hadn't noticed I've done quite fine without it. I need you to be a friend and to support me for once."

"Lavender's pregnant. I dunno if I can get involved with this right now." Hermione was over him, she'd made this promise to herself again and again. But if that was the truth why did it feel like her heart had just been ripped out of her chest?

"Wow, congratulations man!" Harry offered him a handshake that turned quickly into a hug as Ron's downtrodden demeanor turned quickly into an excited one and her boys—not, not her's anymore. The boys, men really, were laughing and talking about their relationships excitedly as Ron announced he was planning to propose the following evening.

"Hermione, I'm sorry there's been a lot going on and I worry about-" She didn't think she could stand hearing concern or pity from him, not now.

"No, that's alright. Thank you." A silence fell and it was as if someone had sucked the air right out of her suddenly too-small apartment, "It appears you've rendered me speechless!" She hoped the forced smile didn't look as insincere or horrible as it felt.

"That's a first!" Ron barked with laughter at his own wit before pulling her into a bear hug that felt all too brotherly and all too intimate at the same time.

It was a little as if her brain had frozen in time and been wiped clean. While Hermione numbly moved to the kitchen to make tea Ron and Harry babbled about Lavender's lycanthropy and the risks of it affecting her pregnancy, both seeming to brush that idea to the side when comparing it to Tonks' pregnancy with Teddy. Remus and Teddy Lupin lived together in a small house on the muggle side of town where Remus worked as a pre-school teacher at a small muggle school while Andromeda and Molly took turns babysitting; McGonagall and a few other peers had written outstanding letters of recommendation and the muggles had no reason to fear the kind widower with the shabby cardigans. The war had stolen Tonks but Remus moved on; everyone was moving on, Hermione assured herself that she could too.

"Hermione! I know you're in there, open up!" It was Ginny, there no mistaking that caustic voice, even through her locked bedroom door.

"I really don't feel well, Ginny, I'll owl when I'm better. Don't want you catching this!" Hermione wished she'd remembered to close the floo. She wasn't lying, she really was sick. It was the perfect storm, really. As soon as she had been feeling back on her feet and vigorous about life again her ex-boyfriend had gotten his girlfriend pregnant and announced he was proposing hours before she came down with a terrible head cold. At least, she reasoned with herself bitterly as she'd sat sniffling from both crying and sneezing, she had an excuse for staying in bed.

Either way, depressed or sick, Hermione kept the ruin bright enough that true depression could not really seep into her brain somehow. She didn't like the darkness, hadn't like it since the war, even when she slept she kept her lamp on as if the light would be able to fight out any of her bad dreams. As if the light could keep depression and nightmares from slipping into her ears and addling her brain past the point of recovery. The lights were always on and made her light blue and white sheets and blankets look welcoming and inviting, all for her of course. It was ludicrous, she knew, but at least when she woke up drenched in sweat and gasping for breath she could see her own hands and her apartment know that she was back in the present.

"Lavender said yes, Hermione, whether you want to deal with your feelings now or later doesn't matter. She said yes and this baby is coming so you better get your ass out of bed and owl a congratulations or you'll hate yourself later." Ginny was right, of course, Hermione would later regret it if she didn't send an owl. Even heartbroken and sick she didn't have it in her to be as rude as she wished.

"I will, Ginny, but I'm really very sick you shouldn't come in." An exasperated sigh was followed by,

"Fine!" And the loud pop which signaled her disappearance, for this Hermione was relieved as she allowed her bushy head to fall back onto the crisp pillow and her mind once more drift off into sleep.

Her Head Girl bedroom looked the same as it had when she'd lived there, Hermione thought with satisfaction. It was comforting when certain things failed to change. Consistency was a comfort that she both relied on and had fought against for much of her life, but she had the feeling that fighting consistency came from lack of it in her early life. Images of her busy parents swirled in her mind, of the Burrow, of her first day at Hogwarts, of finding out she was a witch and her entire childhood and being told that she was "normal" and how that was all a lie. Feeling slightly drugged Hermione stepped further into the bedroom and appreciated the burning colors of Gryffindor on every piece of decoration, she'd once tried to charm the curtains purple but they had resisted.

"Ah, Miss Granger." Surprised to hear that voice, Hermione turned to face the doorway where Lucius Malfoy stood looking much the same as he had when she first met him all those years ago. "Yes, Draco's told me all about you…and your parents." With a flick of his strong chin in the direction to her left, Lucius Malfoy directed her gaze to find Lavender and Ron smiling at her.

"We love you, honey." It was her mother's voice that left Lavender's mouth and Hermione grew slightly confused. Why was Lavender speaking like her mom?

"We forgive you, pumpkin." Her father's pet-name for her falling out of Ron's mouth made her feel oddly squeamish. Confused and unsure of who to question about this Hermione turned to ask Malfoy what he was playing at, but halfway through her turn he had caught her wrist. This time he was not gentle and his touch scorched her skin, burning from her wrist up and into her brain. It felt like a fire had started in her blood, had he cast the cruciatus curse? He had to have, that was the only explanation for the searing pain that was causing her veins to tear in half.

"Do not doubt me" Soft lips were on her ear, then a warm mouth was on her neck and her eyes were fluttering shut as the pain drifted away and replaced with a new burning heat. That mesmerizing voice was floating from her ear into her brain and rooting itself there in its seductive hisses, "I am not to be toyed with, Miss Granger. Miss Granger? Miss Granger!"

Clasping a sheet to her scantily clad chest, Hermione bolted upright in bed and glanced around in confusion. All of her lights were on, not only her lamp, and there was a knock echoing about her home from her front door. Scrambling to tie the sash of her silk night robe around herself, Hermione's sock-clad feet slid across her wooden floors as she gauchely stumbled to the front door.

"Ginny, I told you I would owl when I felt…like it." However, when she swung the heavy door open in annoyance her dreams flooded through her mind. All too suddenly she remembered the confusion, the pain, the lust that had burned through her and all because of the man standing quite calmly outside of her flat. In his typical black robes he looked outlandishly out of place holding a bouquet of daisies.

"Good evening, my apologies, did I wake you Miss Granger? It's quite early." Aware that she probably looked quite a wreck with her hair uncombed and her makeup left on from the previous day, Hermione thought it best to ignore his question.

"What're you doing here, Malfoy?" Venom was evident in her tone. Even if she looked ridiculously horrendous, sick, underdressed, and exhausted she would not let herself be bested by this man again. Ignoring her lust filled dream was for the best, they were probably fever dreams, she reassured herself. She glared into the sunlight, more out her inability to see then at the man in front of her. Was it so wrong that she felt exhausted of hatred?

"I heard about your friend's engagement and…I was worried and…now I see I'm interrupting." Worried? His statement didn't fully register with her. The man before her stuck his head into her apartment and she followed his gaze in confusion.

"What?"

"You're in your bedclothes and look…" Again he trailed off, she'd never heard him speak so slow but figured he was gathering his thoughts as he continued to nosily look around her apartment, "Is someone here?" Too sleep-addled to fully comprehend that she was engaging in conversation with this man and that he was inferring she had just been in the middle of sex, she shook her head,

"No. I was sleeping, I have a temperature." Relief seemed to cross over his features as he stepped fully into her apartment, abandoning her near the door to head further into her living room. Aware that he wouldn't physically hurt her and took exhausted and sick to do much arguing, Hermione allowed him to enter without a fight. If he wanted an earful from her, then by all means he was welcome to invite that upon himself.

"Ah." The door swung shut as she turned to face him,

"Hey, you put me out of work."

"Uh, yes I did." The back of his perfectly styled blonde hair faced her as he examined her home.

"Did you come to gloat?"

"No."

"To offer me a job?" Stuffiness took the sharpness out of her usually high pitched voice.

"I would never-" Blue eyes were indulging her by not snapping at her eagerness to interrupt him,

"'Cause I have plans, I have plenty of offers, you know." Suddenly feeling very immature and very tired, she snatched a tissue out of the box upon her coffee table and blew her nose.

"I know."

"How would you know?" There was a moment of silence as Hermione realized how hostile she was being, "I'm sorry, no matter how awful you've been to me you don't deserve to be yelled at. I'm not myself when I'm…sick." The fight to say 'depressed' or 'heartbroken' was obvious in her voice, she knew. He looked uncomfortable with her apology and gave a stiff shrug, Hermione didn't suppose any of the Malfoys, let alone the Master of the Manor, were used to accepting apologies.

"I brought you flowers." If he looked awkward standing in her doorway, he looked other worldly standing in her living room with a bouquet of daisies in brown paper held out in her direction.

"Oh. Thank you." Then, spinning rather suddenly, she moved to open her front door and gestured for him to leave. Politeness was not much of a concern when she had no intention of doing more than heading back to bed and certainly had no intention of friending this man.

Lucius Malfoy was a man well practiced in the art of stare-offs, apparently. Hermione thought back to days of glowering at his son from cross classrooms, she'd never lost before. Draco's gaze was not as unwavering as his father's, she lost this stare-off pathetically but shirked it off as being sick. Abandoning the small war and recognizing defeat, Hermione shut the door and watched as he turned away from her and headed into the kitchen. Tossing the statements,

"Why don't I put these in some water, hm? You're sick, you should sit down." Numbly, and quite out of breath from her cold, she sat upon her loveseat and listened as he magicked a vase and water. In silence his intimidating figure reappeared and he set the vase of daisies down in front of her.

"I love daisies." There was not much else to say to fill the silence that accompanied him nimbly stepping out of his robes and placing them on her rickety looking hook on the wall.

"Lucky guess." Obvious amusement in his voice matched the small smile he sported as he sat across from her in the arm chair she so loved.

"Don't you think daisies are the friendliest flower?" Tired, sick, overwhelmed nonsense fell from her lips, but she was genuine at least.

"I suppose so." He conjured a tea set between them and poured two cups. Wondering what he had come to say Hermione accepted the tea and waited. Hot tea with honey comforted her throat and cleared her sinuses, slightly, she wondered if he knew the drink would have a calming effect on her or if he had simply been trying to fill the awkward void between them. All of the tension seemed to diffuse with the tea and daisies between them, it was rather odd really but she found it to be a bit of a relief.

"Thank you." She tipped her cup toward him and he nodded, mimicking her gesture minutely. "I needed this to clear my head, I was attempting to do the same when I was at Flourish & Blotts, when I saw you while I was waiting for my friend…" Tentatively she chose her words, "And I was…"

"Charming."

"I was not charming!" If she ever ran out of activities arguing with him could certainly be her new hobby, she mused upon how often she seemed to be doing it of late,

"Well you looked charming."

"I was rude and horrible." They had spoken in unison and both looked surprised at what the opposite had said. Blonde eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he sipped at his steaming drink. "Really," She forced a smile because she would not be bested. If Lucius Malfoy was trying civility then she was adopt the same attitude, "I was upset and horrible."

"No," His refusal was said with full sincerity, "I confronted you. I had hurt you. I was the horrible one." They were both too proud to speak apologies so they admitted faults, but could they speak acceptance of these unvoiced emotions?

"Well, that's true but _**I**_ have no excuse."

"Oh. Oh I see what you're saying, that's interesting. Whereas _**I am**_ a horrible person therefore I have no choice but to be horrible. That's what you're saying." Embarrassment flooded through her and wished she could slap herself, even though a smile was threatening at the corners of his mouth,

"Mister Malfoy-"

"No, that's alright. That's alright," The sentiment didn't quite reach his eyes but he nodded in agreement with her none the less; still, she found she was incapable of looking away from his engrossing eyes, "I put you out of work, I harassed your friends, I watched as you were tortured….among all of the other horrible things that I have done, that is one of the worst…" For a moment he looked lost in thought and an inkling of pity slipped into her heart for him as he finished with, "You are entitled to hate me."

"I don't hate you." On impulse the words practically spoke themselves, but after they had left her mouth Hermione realized they were true.

"You should."

"I don't, the war made us all do horrible things….I don't hate you." She set her empty cup down and he refilled it with unsteady hands.

"But you'll never forgive me, just like Jane."

"What?"

"Jane Eyre, from your muggle novel. She was too proud to forgive Rochester for being married, or was she too righteous? Well, I wouldn't know." Briefly she wondered why he would compare their situation to that of Rochester lying about being married, before she agreed with him that the pain and torment he had caused her was much akin to that of her favorite heroine. Whether he was referencing more the crimes of war or her trail, Hermione did not know but the sentiment was there all the same. Still,

"You read _Jane Eyre_?"

"You highly suggested it, did you not?"

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd read it."

"You're a bright witch, Miss Granger, or so I've been told. However, I doubted your smarts for the first time while reading that romantic…I'm not sure what to call it."

"Idealism."

"Pardon?" It occurred to her then that Lucius Malfoy was sitting in her flat, in her favorite arm chair, having tea and discussing muggle literature with her and she did not hate it. Perhaps this was another fever dream.

"It is romantic idealism, I know, but it does not make me any less bright." Would she always argue with him? _Always?_ Her own voice rang shrill in her head, why had she said that word?

"No," Agreement sounded satisfying from his lips, "no it does not." Again they made eye contact and all that had gone unsaid between them was there, the tea's ability to ward off tension had failed.

"It wasn't personal."

"What? What does that supposed to mean? I'm so sick of that. All that means is that it wasn't personal to you, but it was personal to me." Refusing to placate her pain for his comfort she continued on, "And what is so wrong with being personal, anyway?"

"Nothing." Suddenly aware that he had brought her flowers, served her tea, and read her book to discuss it with her Hermione realized that Lucius Malfoy was not only trying to relieve his guilt. He was trying to be personal and make true amends, these small gestures were large leaps for the Malfoys. Was he not the man he had been a year ago? No, Hermione Granger did not think so.

"Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal." With an air of finality she spoke, her decision made that he would understand how hurt she had been by the time he left. But then, "My head is starting to get fuzzy…Wrackspurts, probably." It was an aside to herself really as she clutched her heavy head in her hands.

"Wrackspurts?"

"Yes, they…they flutter around and make your head foggy…your thoughts…unclear." A light pounding noise began and she recognized another headache coming on, she stood and moved to her bedroom. Turning to face him when she reached her door,

"Why did you stop by, again? I forget." It was both a peace offering and an opportunity for him to make up official business and pretend this had never happened, the former would surprise her more than the latter.

"I wanted your forgivenss."

"Oh."

"I know it wasn't possible but," He stood then with a look of _something_ in his eyes that she wished she understood, it was clear he was trying to silently pass information to her but all she could gather from staring up at his tall figure was a new bout of dizziness, "what can I say, sometimes a man wants the impossible."

"Oh." Unsure if he was following and unsure if she cared if he wasn't, Hermione made her way into her bedroom and climbed into bed. When she settled in and silence fell, Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway.

"I feel as if I should clarify that it truly was not personal to me, it was business that I needed to be done."

"You've said that already," Head too fuzzy to be witty or discreet, Hermione decided to just ask what she wanted to know, "but why? What business needed to be done?"

"I can't say, I'm afraid." She had expected that response, but did not expect him to sit at the foot of her bed. Looking rather like one of the porcelains dolls her grandmother used to collect, he sat on the edge of the bed with limbs too stiff and eyes not cold enough.

"Did you ever meet your friend?"

"What?" Eyes closed and completely relaxed in her bed, Hermione was fighting consciousness as she listened to the soft hum of Lucius Malfoy's soothing voice. The world was a funny place.

"Your friend, in the bookstore you said you were waiting for your friend. Did you ever meet him?"

"Oh. No, not yet. Not in person."

"Not in person, hm. Ah, a pen pal?" Heavy lids cracked open to look at him, with her head tilted to the side she wondered exactly what he was seeing when he stared back at her. Something horribly unattractive, she was sure.

"Yes, a pen pal from my column."

" _Dear Miss Jane_ those are powerful words." Another smile was playing across his lips, she'd never seen him smile so often in her life as he had in the last hour. She quite liked his smile, it was sad that he didn't smile often before, she sleepily decided.

"Yes."

"I will let myself out, thank you for your hospitality. I hope you feel better." As proper as ever, he rose stiffly and she had a feeling that he was well aware of how closely she watched him. It was when he had neared leaving her room that she hoarsely called out,

"Mister Malfoy!" Slowly he turned to face her, a look of genuine surprise and slight concern on his face as he waited in silence. Doubting that he was beckoned very often she had to appreciate his obedience, "I just wanted to say thank you." The olive branch had officially been extended.

"Ah, it was nothing Miss Granger. Thank you. Good day." And the white flag had been waved.

"Good day."

 **I hope you've enjoyed and that you'll review! I'm attaching a link to a youtube video that is not mine, but has the scene from the movie I mentioned at the top. I don't imagine Hermione nor Lucius' delivery to be the same or even really the atmosphere to be all that similar I just love the scene and figured I might as well attach in case somebody else would like to watch it.**

 **Hope you're all well, can't wait to hear what you're thinking!**

 **watch?v=pmNmFpJM3qQ**


	8. A Spell

**AN: I am so sorry for the delay in this story. School and an insanely busy personal life got the best of me these past few months. I'm hoping to be able to make updates again more regularly in the future as my personal life slow backs into normalcy. I graduate college in a few months, as well, so let's hope that incentive speeds this story along. Sorry for the wait and thanks for returning!**

"You're bonkers, 'Mione, it looks great in here." Ginny sat on top of the kitchen table, deeming herself the official supervisor of the affair much to Harry's slightest annoyance, though his silence on the matter made it evident that he knew there was no use putting up a fight about what Ginny would and would not do.

"For the chosen one, you sure do break laws a lot." Hermione teased Harry as he continued

"Quiet, Hermione, and transfigure more chairs." He spoke in good humor, for which Hermione was grateful. She was nervous enough without any added tension.

"Think so?"

"Yeah, we'd rather be presumptuous than ill prepared with this group."

"That's true." Ginny agreed with her fiancé over eagerly in a way, Hermione knew this trick well, to apologize for play fighting him. Harry had helped her expand the walls of her small flat and prepare it as a semi-appropriate meeting place.

"It'll do for now, until we can find somewhere better." They'd considered having it at Grimmauld but Ron had loudly made it clear what a horrible idea that was, although Harry and Hermione knew they would have arrived at that conclusion without his obnoxiously loud help. It wasn't just nerves of what gathering a group full of ex-followers of Voldemort that had Hermione's stomach in knots and her palms clammy in anticipation, but the idea that her friend would be there. He had written just that morning to confirm that he indeed would be able to attend their first meeting.

A scroll of parchment enchanted with a much more aggressive version of the charm that Hermione had placed on one in their fifth year sat on her kitchen table, she'd explained that it was there for those to sign at the end of the meeting if they felt like they would be coming back. Another charm had been placed that made it quite impossible for anyone to speak of the current meeting in terms of any incriminating way. Technically, it was an illegal and undetectable charm that Harry had learned in Auror training and for that Hermione was grateful.

Hermione's flat was full of witches and wizards, her friend had done his job of spreading the word quite well. It had only been a week since they had first discussed her plans for this meeting, the idea that it all came together so fast was slightly jarring but she was rather proud at all she had accomplished in such a short time. Faces both old and new swam before her as she and Harry stood in front of the dozen or so rows of people and another flash of excitement jolted through her as she realized that somewhere in the crowd of faces she was scanning was her friend. Hermione spoke first with a forced calmness that thanked her audience for attending the meeting before Harry stepped forward with a shaky wave of his hand and took over,

"Alright so you all know who I am," Murmured laughter surprised Hermione, she hadn't been expecting an eager crowd, "but I can't take sole credit for this project, Hermione came to me about this issue and she's going to be doing most of the leading so…"

She hadn't realized she was nervous until Harry gestured for her to take over and her mouth was suddenly dry. Blank faces blinked up at her and her magically large living room seemed to be swimming with the black robes. She cleared her throat and glanced down at her hands before finding the breath to speak.

"Right. Well, I've been working at the Ministry recently and have noticed a lack of equality around there…" Harry nodded his encouragement when she glanced back at him, slightly unnerved by the silent attentiveness of the crowd, "I have to be honest, this isn't some sort of revenge on the Ministry. If you're here with some anger towards anyone in the government then I suggest you leave because that isn't what this is meant to be about."

Another long pause stretched out as dark pupils glittered up at her. A bit of shuffling in the back made most of the crowd turn to stare, but nobody moved to exit so she continued, "Well, that's excellent then. Our main focus here is to work as a rehabilitation group—a real rehabilitation group. I know the ministry is forcing everyone to go through classes, but I—we, were thinking maybe this could be a little more active. We'll meet once or twice a week, depending on the need, and really talk about ways we can make change. Think of this as a support group. Eventually we'd like to add rehabilitating members of the other side as well, because you are certainly not alone in coming back to normalcy…" Finding herself babbling Hermione again checked back in with Harry who moved forward, a natural born leader,

"What Hermione is getting at is while the ministry is looking to reform and changed you all, we are looking to reform society and perceptions. This is a confidential place for support, we're going to start small but we're pleased you're even here to begin with. Let's circle up, shall we?"

Hermione was not a trained professional, and was aware that they were soon going to have to extend their administrative branch to include people who were, but even without professional training they had to be doing more good in one night than the ministry had done in years. After a few moments of awkward chair scooting Ginny had arranged the seats into seven large circles and the three Gryffindors took their time making rounds about the room, guiding conversations in positive directions.

"Talk about whatever you'd like to talk about: how you feel about the war, situations you've had to deal with since the war, nightmares—I don't know or care, so long as you're talking!" Ginny's voice had rang through Hermione's (newly) spacious apartment; the brunette was moved to see Harry beam at the sound of his love's authoritative passion. The air seemed to be alight with a buzzing electricity that Hermione couldn't name, but she felt it pouring through her veins with such strength that she found herself slightly light headed and needing a moment of quiet. Stories of hateful vandalism, lost jobs, dead children, ruined marriages flooded through her as the kitchen door swung shut and shaky hands pushed the cold water tap on. _Colin Creevey's crumpled body fell before her eyes and bile began to rise._ The voices from the living room felt as if they were pounding against her skull.

"Can I assist you with anything?" The aristocratic drawl made Hermione jump, suddenly thankful she hadn't ducked her head under the tap like she'd been considering. _She could nearly feel the horcrux cold between her breasts as she'd slept on the cot._

"What're you doing in here?" Water rushed past her fingertips, mockingly cold against her soaring pulse. A headache she hadn't realized had been creeping up on her all day suddenly left her dizzy and incapacitated to do much more than force her wrists under the water in an attempt to cool down. _Dumebledore's funeral was too hot._ The shine of the sink glimmered beneath the water as she tried to time her breaths into longer strokes and ignore the nausea threatening to force the contents of her stomach into the sink. _The cruciatus curse, the hard floor of Malfoy manor, Bellatrix's hot spit on her face, acid in her veins._

"I saw you taking your leave. You didn't look well. May I assist you?" Lucius' concerned voice grew closer, that Hermione could tell, but she felt herself to be too overwhelmingly exhausted to turn and discover just how near he stood. _The sea air of Dobby's funeral ruined vacations for her, the saltiness of her own sweat made her sick even now._

"I can't breathe." It was too bright, too white in there. Loud memories of the castle wall heading toward her. Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes without consent.

"Muffliato." A slight relief filled her at the spell, "Raise your arms, quickly." Firm hands gripped her upper arms and lifted them above her head, tap water splashed them both as the room slowly began to rotate, "Can you hold your arms up for me?"

"Yes." _He's so close._ The voice in her head was ringing slightly as she swayed on her feet but took his direction as he retracted his embrace.

"Good girl, breathe through your nose." Warm fingers plucked at the buttons at her neck, she heard the sink turn off then left water slide down her throat into the crevice of her collarbone. Mint was overpowering her senses as Lucius pressed a hand to the back of her neck. _The snake at Godric's Hollow rearing back to strike._ Gentle hands began to massage at her forehead, lightly pinch the bridge of her nose, work at the top of her jaw beneath her ears.

"Close those eyes for me." Darkness fell suddenly and she could only focus on the soothing voice directing her, "Good girl. Good, Hermione, very good. Listen to my voice, I need you to keep breathing in….and out…good, again: in….out…" The nasal tones continued from all around the small kitchen before a cool towel was pressed to her forehead. How much time passed Hermione couldn't tell before her eyes opened and she found her hands resting against Lucius' shoulders. Apparently he'd turn the lights off once she'd closed her eyes, as they stood not a foot apart in the darkness of her kitchen. It was a dark night, the sky was full of clouds and the moon was just barely strong enough to shine off the silver of the sink.

"How do you feel?" He didn't step away to give her space.

"Better, thank you."

"Don't thank me." Large hands held her face, palms still damp and cool and a relief to the continuing onslaught of her pounding head. "Still dizzy?"

"No." Her eyes slid shut without her direction.

"Good. Your breathings easier?"

"Yes." The intimacy between his actions hadn't occurred to her until her eyelids lifted and she found herself focusing in on the speckled silver of his eyes. "Thank you, I don't know what's wrong with me—this has never happened before-"

"It's alright, don't try to explain. Right now just focus on your breathing."

"I'm tired."

"Yes, you've just had a panic attack, you'll be quite exhausted for a few days. Do you need to sit?" His factual tone was a relief, there was no pity or annoyance within him. There was no room for embarrassment once he'd diagnosed her, it was obvious he was familiar enough with the occurrence to not pass judgement.

"No." Her response was belied by her slight wavering on her feet. Lucius hugged her figure close without hesitation,

"Rest your forehead on my shoulder, but make sure you can breathe." Her forehead only went to his heart, he was too tall. "Take your time, when you're feeling better I'll unlock the door and alert your boyfriend of your ailments."

"I don't have a boyfriend." A whisper against black, expensive material that she didn't have the brain power to define; she was thankful she was pressed against him or he wouldn't have heard her meek response.

"Alright, Potter then."

By the time Lucius unlocked the door, Hermione was sitting on her counter with a glass of water clasped between her clammy palms and the meeting attendees had left her apartment empty save for Harry and Ginny who burst into the room the moment Lucius' enchantment was lifted.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" Ginny's voice was so aggressively accusatory that Hermione physically flinched.

"Ms. Granger had a bit of an …episode. She's still recovering now, it'll do her well for you to lower your voice." More factual, languid dialogue flowed from him like autumn leaves drifting to the dirt.

"What sort of episode?"

"She-" Hermione broke into his lecture before he could properly begin it,

"I puked." All eyes fell upon her pale face with curiosity, she avoided Lucius' eye, "I guess I haven't quite kicked my cold yet. Lucius helped clean me up….Thanks."

"None needed." The burning of his gaze upon her face was nearly too intense to ignore, but she slid from the counter still without eye contact in fear that her eyes would betray her words to her friends.

"I'm fine now, really you guys, I just need some sleep. Tea tomorrow to fill me in on what I missed?"

They were pacified and began to chatter about plans that Hermione agreed to with barely half an ear listening to where they would meet. Well, she mused, there were only so many places in Diagon Alley to look. With congratulatory kisses to her cheeks and worried squeezes to her palm, the couple disappeared into her fire place in a burst of green smoke—both seeming to forget the Slytherin man lurking about in her kitchen. In truth, she could not deny that she felt better as her head began to clear; anxiety drifted away but dragged off her energy with it. As she made her way back to her kitchen she waited for awkwardness to set in, but it did not come.

"You really shouldn't be ashamed, you know, panic attacks are a normal side effect of PTSD." His long figure leaned against counter with ankles crossed. A striking image draped in black with silken tresses shining under the glare of the fluorescent overhead lamp, for the first time she found herself unintimidated but intensely drawn to his figure.

"I'm not ashamed. There's no use worrying them over something they couldn't help…Thank you, sincerely, for your help."

"Are you seeing anyone?" Leaning still with curious eyes, he leveled with her in what she imagined was his fathering tone.

"Not at the moment no, but being single has never stopped me before." Confusion slipped over his features as soon as they passed into a sliver of a smile.

"Thank you for divulging, but you'd already made that clear. I hadn't realized Potter was with the Weasley girl, an interesting pair…but no, I meant psychiatrically—are you seeking help?"

"No."

"Consider it then, I'll owl over some names for you."

"Ok." There was no fight left in her, not when he was the most mature human she was currently in contact with and the only one who had seen her coping with a panic attack.

"Are you alright to be alone tonight?" The words daunted her, why she hadn't considered that he would eventually have to leave was a mystery to her.

"Yes." He extended her water glass and she accepted with a tired arm.

"Good. Off to bed then, I'll be up in five minutes to be sure you made it."

"That won't be necessary Mister Malfoy-" The glass was plucked from her fingers and cast into the sink with a flick of his wand.

"Agree to call me Lucius, please. And it most certainly is necessary, I can't have you fainting when I was the last one seen in your flat. Hurry along, now."

The hall to her bedroom swam before her eyes as she stumbled into the room. Door closed behind her, Hermione clumsily stripped before pulling on her fleece and burrowing into her bed. Crookshanks purred even as he was moved from his favorite sleeping spot, her pillow, to accommodate her curls. Eyelids of lead but too anxious to fall asleep with Lucius in her home, she called out to him once she was settled. In mere moments he entered with a lavender vile and glass of water clasped in each hand.

"A sleeping drought." She accepted with a whisper of gratitude before tipping it between her lips. It tasted like summer days spent drinking hose water after hot hours playing in the sun.

"I didn't think my friendship would be called into action so soon the other day. Though your health did seem better before your episode, that's good." His affinity to switch between factual lecturer and upper-class conversational extraordinaire muddled her brain.

"I'm too tired to make small talk." Her honesty pulled a smile from him.

"Quite fairly so. I'll owl in the morning, if I don't get a response I'm dropping by."

"Fine." The oddity of Lucius Malfoy leaving her to sleep in her bed occurring more than once in a lifetime was an idea she couldn't dwell on as she surrendered to the need for sleep.

 **AN: I hope that felt to be even a little worth the wait, a plot will start churning together soon enough I promise it! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, it's been a while since I wrote so hopefully breaking back into it will be fun for both you and me!**


	9. The Morning After

**Your patience and reviews are very much appreciated, thank you for your understanding and encouragement it means the world to me! I hope you enjoy this short chapter, I'm hoping to have another one or two out not long from now. Happy weekend readings!**

Owls bombarded an exhausted Hermione over morning tea. Lucius had been right, even with over eight hours of sleep the panic attack had depleted her energy. The shower left her with prickly skin and frizzy hair, doing little to revive her from her lethargic state. Hermione kept the kitchen window open for the birds as she awaited her toast and sipped at the tea. Her mind drifted aimlessly through the dramatics of the previous evening, swirling memories of death narratives combined with the feeling of Lucius Malfoy's strong arms enclosing her in an embrace. Not an embrace, a smug part of her corrected, a hug. It hadn't been a bad hug, no, it was nearly an enjoyable experience save for the panic attack that had preceded it. The comforting, predictable black of his shirt had coddled her and pulled her back to normalcy, sobriety. Though she wonder if she could have ever been truly sober if she'd been grateful—pleased, even—by his body surrounding hers. Exhaustion milked yawns from her as she fought her damp curls into a mess resembling a bun atop her head. Going through her morning motions, she couldn't help but wonder how Harry or Ginny would have reacted had they'd been the ones to find her, head resting against Lucius' chest with his cool hands wrapped in her hair—well, the moment was past—she'd never know. Hermione turned to the growing post pile with heavy hands.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _Thank you for your support and organization last night. Your passion will make a difference._

 _Much obliged,_

 _Victor Shelley_

Hermione didn't know a Victor, but was happy to help. She wrote so in a quick response to him, as well as the dozens of other letters that had sang similar tunes. The gratitude she received rejuvenated her more than a full night of sleep ever could have; there had to be an inspiring saying about the importance of helping others but she was too tired to fish in her memory for one that suited so instead she returned to the growing pile of envelopes. Knowing there was something childish in taking immense pleasure from receiving mail, Hermione decided she didn't care as she plucked her way through the pile with half a mind wondering if that was what she missed most about her column.

There were few things she loved like the feel of peeling back a seal, when she'd first started at Hogwarts she'd started a small collection of the wax stamps in her trunk. When she'd gone home that summer between first and second year her mother had found them and tossed them out with a lecture on hoarding, Hermione had been too shy to admit she'd kept them as proof that she'd been to Hogwarts—that her world was real, in case they decided to kick her out—in case they realized she wasn't worthy. Looking back she realized it was a rather ridiculous thought process (considering she had her textbooks which she reviewed all summer) but the fact that she was still alive to be fighting for change in this same society that she had once hoarded seals to keep proof of, was something worth celebrating, surely.

 _Hermione,_

 _Harry and I have to reschedule it to lunch, mum popped by. She sends her love (and wants to know when she can expect to see you again—Halloween party?) Leaky Cauldron at 1? Hope you're feeling better!_

 _Love,_

 _The (soon to be) Potters!_

Quickly she scratched out an acceptance to Mrs. Weasley's Halloween party as well as their lunch date at the Leaky Cauldron before turning back to her pile. If she had collected this next stamp, it would have been her first green in the collection. As well as the only one with a serpentine "M" imprinted within it. Her stomach flipped as she quickly, but carefully, unfolded the soft parchment,

 _Miss Granger,_

 _I suspect you're feeling better this morning. Attached are my recommendations for psychiatric care, as promised, your secret is safe with me and my ears are open if you're ever in need of a helping hand. Many congratulations are in order for your success last night, your ears must be ringing with all of the talk of you this morning._

 _Your Friend,_

 _Lucius Malfoy_

This letter caught her off-guard and she struggled with a response for a half hour over cold tea before she managed a response she was adequately comfortable with sending. It was jarring to be receiving a letter from a man she was supposed to hate (for so many reasons) and yet his sign off left her mind reeling. "Your Friend." Pondering the statement as she washed the dishes, she decided she could not revolt against the term, even if he had gotten her fired, only a friend would behave the way he had the night before—right? For some reason, it was Ron's voice which resounded in her ears: _No, any decent man would help a woman in need like that._ But Hermione knew there was something more, it took more than common decency for Lucius Malfoy—or any Malfoy, she assumed—to reach out in the manner he had the previous evening. She'd been expecting, at the very least, a well-aimed lecture on mental health or an overbearing warning about the Ministry's watchful gaze and instead received an invitation for friendship, the unidentifiable voice in the back of her head would not let her pass that option up, no matter how much the logical part of her wanted to chuck the entire letter onto the stovetop.

 _Lucius,_

 _I must express my extreme sense of gratitude for your assistance last night; I am afraid to think what would have occurred had you not arrived when you did, thank you. As for your congratulations, I am flattered and overwhelmingly pleased with such a positive response. Though, I must inquire how you could deem this underground organization allowable but not my Prophet column—before you mentioned you had business in getting me fired…Care to indulge me over supper or drinks?_

 _Friendliest regards,_

 _Hermione Granger_

 _P.S. – If you insist I call you by your first name, I insist you use mine. Cheers!_

Only one owl remained once she had finished sending an owl out to Malfoy Manor. Lucius' recommendations were folded and tucked into her kitchen junk drawer, not out of any bias toward him or therapists in general but Hermione knew her pride to be too strong for a therapist to be of any use. She tossed the letter in the trash before returning to her toast and letter pile.

"The thing with therapists, you see," She spoke aloud as she struggled with the final envelope, "is you must accept their advice if you bother going…Don't much see that happening…" When she saw the first line of the letter, Hermione nearly dropped the parchment into the jam.

 _Dear Miss Jane,_

How she had failed to recognize the calligraphy on the envelope was beyond her, but she still forced herself to take a moment and appreciate the fine penmanship and beautiful parchment she held. The parchment was definitely an expensive brand, she didn't recognize it from a shop in Diagon Alley. It was softer than the sheets on her bed and flower pedals were pressed into the paper, the edges were frayed as if it had been hand-ripped instead of pressed, sliced, and rolled like the cheaper and more professional scrolls she was accustomed to using at the ministry. Cursing herself, Hermione could not help but find the small yellow and purples pedals pressed into the paper to be as utterly romantic and intoxicating as actual the exotic smell of it.

 _Congratulations on the first meeting of…? You will need to name this group, though that will make all of it horribly official so I can understand the reluctance to do so. This is not your first dalliance into illegal activities, from what I garner, however I am swayed to think it will be your must successful. It was an honor to be in your presence last night, you were superb. Although you did seem a bit peaky there at the end, should I be concerned? My desire to reach out to you and shake your hand to thank you for your kind words and service was nearly undeniable. I am glad you escaped before I could reveal my identity but I do wonder if you thought of me last night, if you too were curious over which enraptured face belonged to your friend…I do hope you will consider me your friend._

 _I must thank you for taking the necessary actions to create this outlet for so many people with stories similar to my own. Pondering over the shared stories I heard, even in our short time together last night, left me emotionally drained and feeling rather dazed. The damage we created will be etched into our bloodlines for ages to come, no matter how the Ministry may try to erase our existence we must never forget the horrors afflicted upon all families during this war. Thus, I must continue to send my utmost appreciation to you for taking action and following through on your word. If there is anything the group or you require (or desire, I must add as I feel you would be too polite for ask for anything but emergency supplies) please do not hesitate to owl. Be wary of your members, I saw faces there last night that would be familiar to a ministry official—I must ask you, is this wise, Ms. Granger? What shall you do if you are found out?_

 _This post box will be checked daily; I am at your utter (and full) disposal and hope you will take full advantage of that rarity. For now, the real world calls. I reiterate, do not shy from contacting me about any needs, concerns, and desires. Consider my many congratulations and continuous gratitude being sent to you._

 _Yours,_

 _The Fallen One_

Hermione was hard-pressed not to stick the parchment onto her fridge. The handwriting was nearly familiar, though she couldn't place it exactly and brushed it off as being the same upper-class cursive that her peers had emulated and strived to perfect years ago. For reasons beyond her comprehension the letter sent butterflies throughout her body. The man's troubled past combined with his pension for well-aimed compliments and loyalty pulled at sensitive heart strings she didn't know she possessed. As she set another kettle on, Hermione pulled out her nicest parchment and quill. The metallic, quixotic scent of ink softened her mind as she put quill to parchment and a response flowed through her.

 _My dear Fallen One,_

 _Your praise means more to me than so many other regards that have been sent this morning from even closer friends. I had hoped it was obvious by now that I count you as a close confidant and very much a friend, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to write it out. I am grateful for your friendship and support on this endeavor. Thank you, a million thank you's, for setting me out on this journey. Your concern warms my heart perhaps more than it should. Did you see faces there that you believe would be happy to turn me in? I would have you note that I say "me" not "us." Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have announced their engagement and I could never allow them to take any blame for something I have brewed up with an anonymous ex-Death Eater. I am sorry to refer to you with such a blameful label, but I do hope you see how this all looks._

 _I hope you don't take this as a guilt trip, although I must admit I am infamous for those, but instead as another heartfelt plea for your identity to be made honest to me. There were so many moments last night when I wished I had known who you were. If we are being frank (anonymity does give us the courage to be, I have found) there are so many times throughout most of my days where I wish I knew who you were. Please, friend, I would love for us to be able to sit over tea like normal companions, but I am too proud to beg so I will simply leave you with that thought._

 _I do have a favor to ask. I hope you will not think poorly of me for inventing a request so soon, but do you know any psychiatric specialists who would be willing to help with the group? Confidentiality is obviously of the utmost importance._

 _Yours,_

 _Jane._

"Mum's all worried about you." Ginny spoke conversationally with a mouthful of burger, a bit of egg poked out of the corner of her mouth but she didn't seem to notice. Even during the lunch rush, on weekends the pub was mostly empty save for a few scattered couples around the corners.

"Why is that?" Hermione had ordered a bowl of potato soup, the excitement of the last twenty four hours had rendered her mostly too overcome to eat.

"Thinks you're holing yourself up in your flat to protect yourself from the world, some bits of mum advice followed her fears but I'll spare you."

"No that's nice of her truly," She sputtered through giggles that had her choking on her butterbeer, "but I'm doing fine. You know, considering everything, I could be much worse off." Harry remained silent but the way he studied her over his drink reminded her eerily of Dumbledore's curious twinkle that she'd been subjected to various times throughout her academic career.

The pair filled her in on what she missed while she was having her episode, nearly nothing but a few more tears than she probably would have been able to handle anyways, and she revealed she was asking for more professional help…as well as her friend's cryptic warning.

"I know! I saw Malfoy there and was surprised you didn't give him a beating and throw him out."

"There'd be no point to that, Gin, then he'd go straight to the ministry and report us." Harry's point was what Hermione found herself nodding along to, though she hadn't exactly told them of Lucius visiting her when she was ill. That entire occurrence felt a little too personal to divulge, which in itself was a ludicrous thought, yet she felt herself only willing to share,

"He told me my whole job-trial-affair was ordered business, nothing personal. Something tells me we don't have to worry about him." The two shared a glance that Hermione didn't care to interpret and the conversation moved on, thankfully.

"Well speaking of Malfoys, have you heard about Draco?"

"No." Ginny and Hermione answered in unison, Harry looked slightly giddy to be telling the story.

"Apparently he and mummy have ran off somewhere; your dad says she's got family in France, Gin. So that's my guess."

"Wow. Any speculation why?"

"Because they got sick of living with that git, Hermione, come on. Just because he held your hair back while you were having a barf doesn't mean he's a good man. He got you fired a few weeks ago, member?" Ginny's words were easy to laugh off though even Hermione was starting to wonder if her laugh was genuine or even believable,

"You've got me there, I can't imagine any of them being easy to live with—let alone Lucius the Terrible."

 _Dear_ _Hermione_ _,_

 _My, my you are a curious one. Noted, though your continuous thanks are embarrassing. Let us not mention it again. I would be honored to indulge you for supper, as you say. Let's do seven. Mine or yours?_

 _Cordially,_

 _Lucuis Malfoy_

 _Post Script- I've used your first name, you're required to be pleased._

If there was ever a time to have a change of heart, this was it for Hermione. The thought that this was the point of no return loomed largely overheard as she quickly scribbled out,

 _Lucius,_

 _Seven at mine works splendidly. Hopefully your refined palate can handle my suburban cooking._

 _See you soon,_

 _Hermione_

 _PS- Only snobs write out "post script."_

 **Sorry for a bit of a filler chapter, obviously things will be picking up again soon. I've found myself writing a bit of an anti-government piece and struggling to do so in a way that keeps up the mystery as the mystery of the Fallen One's identity was certainly not very mysterious.**

 **Anyways, I hope to update soon. Please review for my inspiration and thanks for reading :)**


	10. Disfunction

**As promised the second chapter this evening! Enjoy!**

"This is delicious." Hermione snorted when Lucius caught her eye from across her small dining table.

"Please, I doubt spaghetti and meatballs is very impressive to a man raised on _coq au vin_ and Grand Crus _Le Chambertin_." Pointed eyebrows rose and she was suddenly grateful she'd spoken while his mouth was full for she was able to quickly add, "But thank you." His amused smile was a relief. Dinner had, so far, been a mostly silent affair. Lucius had arrived promptly, just as she was finishing pouring the wine into their glasses. Once they'd covered the bases of how his work was going ("Quite well, thank you for asking" and how successful the meeting had been the previous evening ("Yes, I'm surprised but rather pleased"), they'd fallen short of conversation.

"It's funny Hermione, you do make a lot of assumptions about my life for a girl who knows so little about growing up in the wizarding world." A day ago she would have been annoyed, a week ago she would have been offended, a month (let alone a year) ago it would have been enough for her to pick a fight with him—but now she knew that Lucius was just a very straightforward man with an overly dry sense of humor. It wasn't even a dry sense of humor, Hermione decided as she savored the wine she had spent far too much money on, it was a parched sense of humor. Briefly, she imagined a young Lucius (who, in her mind, looked remarkably like a more attractive version of Draco) sitting with a two thousand dollar bottle of wine in front of him and instead requesting a pumpkin juice—the scenario didn't seem right, no child of his breeding would have enjoyed the same niceties of herself or the Weasleys.

"I spent ages eleven onward in the wizarding world, Lucius, I would like to point that's more than half of my life spent in this world—I have accumulated a fair bit of knowledge." The irony of the sentence was not lost on him.

"That is true, but even your few years in the wizarding world fall short of my decades in the wizarding upper-crust." There was no true malicious intent behind his words, in fact he was quite close to grinning as he rolled his fork around in hopes of capturing more pasta.

"Oh clever, accentuate your age as a way of intimidation—no man has ever tried that with a woman before." Sarcasm was their main shared language, she discovered with glee as not many people appreciated her enjoyment of irony.

"Correction: _old_ man and _young_ woman. Besides, Miss Granger, I was pointing out a truth, not trying to be revolutionary."

"Well, your truth is boring. I would have much preferred you to be revolutionary." Their smiles were infectious. Hermione hadn't expected to have a very enjoyable evening with him. Most of her had truly wanted to even the playing field: he saved her from a panic attack, she returned the favor by feeding him a home cooked meal—she hadn't expected laughter or—dare she even think it?—flirtation.

"I think a member of The Golden Trio sitting civilly with a former Death Eater over a meal, in _her_ home nonetheless, is rather revolutionary enough for us…Quite honestly, I've rather had it with being revolutionary. I'd like to be boring for once, I think, a cliché sounds a bit nice about now." Tipping her stemmed glass to his honesty Hermione sipped the red wine,

"Well then let me point out the cliché for you, Mister Malfoy: you are in the apartment of a much younger woman who attended schooling with your son and you've barely been rude enough to truly insult her. Want to get a quick one in before the rumor mill starts?" A pink blush rose across the edges of his icy cheekbones and he cleared his throat, setting his silverware to the table with flat palms before catching her eyes with a glimmer of something she could not quite read,

"Quickies were never my forte, Miss Granger. When I do something, I put the time in to do it right." Embarrassed horror splashed across her features before she felt laughter spilling from her wine-stained lips,

"I meant a quick insult, Lucius, for fuck's sake!" Shock had him frozen quite still and had he not already revealed himself to be thoroughly embarrassed she might have commented on how lovely his mouth was when it was closed, but Hermione resisted in favor of giggling more over the top of her wine glass. There was no doubt the alcohol was making them both giddy, loosening their tongues more than probably necessary—but her nerves from earlier were finally abiding and the tension in her back was easing away as Lucius wiped his face in an exaggerated expression of shame before setting his elbows on the table and smiling at her,

"So the quickie is out of the question then, Miss Granger?" It was his turn to see her freeze and blush, even though she knew he'd said it in that gravelly tone simply to get a rise out of her—his way of evening the playing field. Yet still the low tremors of his voice mixed with its unique nasal tonnage struck sharp in the pits of her stomach, turning her insides to liquid and forcing heat into her chest that had had struggling for air. Hermione suddenly felt extremely aware of all of the blood in her body and how quickly it seemed to be flowing through her lap, rushing hot and wet.

"Need I remind you again, Mister Malfoy, that I attended school with your _son_?" Her best version of a teasing purr was lost when his face turned solemn and his back suddenly stiffened. The sharp eyes that had only seconds before been glinting with cheer and wit were suddenly hooded with a grave sadness that Hermione realized was too private for her to witness. It was still a fresh friendship, she was inexperienced in the ways he wanted to handle his emotions—Ron and Harry really just got grumpy and secretive about theirs', she certainly hadn't realized she would even be able to read his eyes when they wilted suddenly towards introversion.

"I'll clear for dessert." Grabbing her plate and reaching for her own Hermione was determined to avoid Lucius' eye contact for the rest of the evening, maybe even for the rest of her life if she could successfully find a creative way to save him chocolate cake while addressing the buttons on his shirt. A warm hand gripped her wrist and a sudden memory of that day in Flourish & Blotts when he'd held her the same way, firm but gentle fingers refused to let her move away from the table. Slowly, her eyes moved their way up from his long fingers wrapped around her pink wrist, to the attractive veins of his forearms, the clean rolled up sleeve of is white button down, his broad right shoulder, all the way up past his thin lips and pointed nose to his cool eyes. If she'd be anxious for the evening to be over before, she was a complete ball of nerves now. Electricity seemed to race from the tips of her fingers all the way up to her arm, burning her with the raw power of his touch.

"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable, my son is still a sore subject for me when I truly contemplate him." Her curiosity was peaked yet all she managed was a poorly attempted joke with,

"I feel like I've gained a lot of apologies from you lately, Lucius, I'm impressed—making up for the first fifty years of your life?" A long beat of silence encompassed them and she truly wished she could stop putting her foot in her mouth every time she tried to ease the tension with the joke, when would she learn that really wasn't her strong suit?

"Please try to control yourself, Hermione, I'm making an attempt at civil friendship here and your snide remarks are making it rather difficult. And really, fifty?" And then it clicked, all of it suddenly fell into place for Hermione. That was why he had attended the meeting, it was why he had helped with her panic attack, it was why he had accepted her dinner invitation, and it was why the confident man she had grown accustomed to had disintegrated before her eyes when a personal topic was brought up in conversation—Lucius Malfoy did not know how to be a friend, he had probably never had a real friend that he had to make and earn on his own without the help of his heritage or inheritance. Another thought struck her rather suddenly and yet she could not pull her wrist away from his smooth grasp, instead she found her eyes flickering back to where his steady hand engulfed her petite wrist.

"You don't need to pity me, Malfoy. Just because you cost me my job, doesn't mean you have to throw me a pity party and try to be my friend. We're both adults here, you can go if that's what this is about."

"I've told you before I don't pity you," His fingers twitched in their grasp with the slightest tightening that made her gasp, "I would never pity a foolish girl for getting herself fired by blatantly and publically posting anti-ministry propaganda in a ministry-owned paper—that's simply stupid, quite plainly put." The sneer that she remembered so vividly from childhood was back and she felt herself being tugged forward across the corner of the table, the plates of food balancing in her hands stayed there due to sheer luck, "Don't flatter yourself, Granger, it would take a lot more than pity to get me into this apartment."

"Then what're you doing here, Malfoy? Come to spy for your ministry friends? Hoping some well-timed dirt on the government's most hated mudblood will earn you some brownie points with the minister?" Unconsciously moving closer with her attempt to match her sneer, she could feel his warm breath with his next words,

"You're a m-"

"Say it! Say it you bastard, I dare you!" He took a registered pause then, eyes blatantly glancing across her face with something too close to delight for Hermione's comfort and she cursed his collectiveness before he dared himself even closer to mutter,

"You're a _madwoman_ , Hermione." Her breath hitched as his eyes flicked from her eyes down to her lips before slowly making their way upwards again, a smug grin in place as he finished his thought, "You're the only woman I know who could make my apology for the sake of our friendship into a personal attack." Sounding rather amused again, he used his free hand to lift his glass to his lips once more, it was a power move that pushed her eyes back to where he still held her. Not one to take the end of an argument for granted, Hermione smiled as she pulled back a little on her wrist in a faux-attempt to escape,

"You started it." Before the wine even touched his lips he set the glass down with his free hand, giving her wrist a tug closer to him,

"And ended it because I'm apparently the grown up here."

"Are not!" She leaned back with glee that suddenly turned to horror, for as he growled:

"Am too!" Lucius abruptly released her wrist and sent her tumbling forward. The sudden freedom sent her off-balance and the plates of spaghetti went spilling forward onto his white shirt before sliding down into his lap. Shock silenced them both as he comically looked between his lap and her empty hands, before meeting her overblown wide eyes with a quirked eyebrow that sent her spiraling into apologies.

"I am so sorry!" Tripping over her feet in a mad rush for a rag, Hermione was caught off-guard by his boisterous laughter,

"Bloody hell, woman, you'll be the death of me! Are you witch or not?" With a simple wave of his wand the stains were gone, the dishes were cleared, and the chocolate cake found its way onto the table—before two clean slices were delved out onto fresh plates. Hermione stood stiffly at the edge of the table as Lucius' extended hand waved the plate at her with dramatized impatience. His level-headedness was infuriating and she felt the dreaded fuzziness creeping its way back into her head and she sincerely did not want a repeat of the previous evening, she just wanted to be better.

"You know, Hermione, you are quite a character to argue with, I think I shall make a habit of it."

"I feel unstable. I'm sorry, I'm not good at human interaction again, just yet."

"Of course you're not," The chocolate cake was placed on the table as he looked up at her with an entirely too-serious face for a man who had only a minute before been dripping with red sauce. The crispness of his white rolled over his strong arms made her slightly dizzy, her apology felt stale and she was wondering if she needed to make it again for it to feel better, "you've isolated yourself, Hermione, whether purposefully done or not—you are isolated and struggling with a rather nasty case of PTSD. Now, you are not alone in that but I'd say the more interesting cliché here is less your daddy issues and more your attempt to befriend your former enemy as a way of self-healing."

"Are you an authority on daddy issues, then?" Shaking hands brought the bitter drink to her lips and she forced down two big gulps, ignoring the fact that the wine was probably a large factor behind her brazen behavior that evening.

"My son certainly has them, sure, that would explain him chasing after his mother to France…but that is another story for another time." She wasn't biting so he reverted back to the original train of thought. "Perhaps not daddy issues, however I can say I'm quite experienced with PTSD…Have you called any of the doctors I recommended?"

"No."

"How can you expect to do any good in this world if you don't do well for yourself first?" The level-headedness of the question offended her in the fact that she hadn't thought of it first. The pounding her her heart in her ears sent a rush of nausea through her that settled only when she managed to glance up and meet the crystalline eyes boring into her.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I told you before, with the daisies, I want your forgiveness. I want to be your friend. I think you'd be good for me—we'd be good for each other, really, if we would stop mucking it up with our personal attacks."

"I do like _fighting_ with you." Her weak admission tugged the corner of his lips up into a slight smile.

"Hopefully one day you'll enjoy…not fighting with me."

"We'll work our way up to that."

"Yes. First, chocolate."

 **Next chapter shouldn't be too far off, I know this was another quick one but we're moving in the right direction at least. What do you think of their chemistry? I hope Hermione's confusion of his character and emotions is reading well! Happy weekend everyone!**


	11. Cats and Tea

**Thank you to the kind reviewers who send their support and encouragement, you guys are amazing! I hope you're enjoying so far, this bit continues on the fluffy line but I think we're heading toward some important realizations soon enough! Enjoy!**

Hermione started bumping into Lucius in odd locations, quite regularly after that. One day it was at the Leaky Cauldron where she'd sat in a corner booth with a novel, he'd joined her for drinks and they'd chatted amicably for the first time without any dramatic disasters or interruptions—a first for them, really.

"Where are the blokes?" He'd asked before dipping the draft back. Hermione had admittedly been rather surprised to see him order a beer, of course he made a fuss about the amount of foam over the top and had given her a lecture on how to pour the drink into the glass in a way that would keep that foam from growing—but there were something so completely average about him drinking the masculine, but plain, drink that she found herself entranced with the way his mouth formed around the glass.

"What blokes?"

"Good answer." They'd clinked glasses at that.

A few days later they'd bumped into each other in the quill section of Flourish & Blotts and he'd treated her to a severely over-priced quill with a shake of his head and deaf ear to her loud protests of the extravagant gift with the insistence that it was his show of gratitude for starting the secret society, as he had begun to call it.

"Well I'll just buy you a nice one for Christmas, then." Her promise had gotten a bit of a guffaw out of him, sharp eyebrows high on his forehead as they exited the shop. The tinkle of the bell above the door the underscore to his amused noise and the bright grin he'd earned from her.

"Hermione if you think you can out-gift me at Christmas, you have quite the surprise coming your way." The fact that they were discussing plans of their friendship to last for months in the future made her giddier than she would have liked to admit.

Not long after that they met for tea at a small muggle shop, where she became gleefully aware that Lucius Malfoy had little to no grasp on muggle money and she spent most of their two hour conversation explaining the brightly colored papers (that he had quite the abundance of) splayed out on the small tabletop.

"No, they're called pounds."

"Why on earth would they call it that?"

"They just do, now pay closer attention I don't want to have to repeat this again…" Her snarky disposition had earned her a slap on the top of her hand as she reached for his money.

They let their backgrounds fall away (as it obviously triggered overly sensitive feelings on both sides), they ended all blatant innuendos (much to Lucius' dismay he soon realized this topic always brought them back to his circling their ages and his ego "couldn't handle it again, quite frankly"), and reverted to simply being friends focused "in the now." A solid month went by of fresh secret society meetings, artfully worded letters from the Fallen One (with little advancement on his identity), and Hermione had grown quite comfortable with the her arrangement with Lucius until she found herself shopping with for Halloween costumes with Ginny, and they bumped into the blonde aristocrat.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione's voice was strained, even to her own ears, as she stood in the dressing cubicle with her very last shred of dignity being stripped from her as she pulled on the slinky costume.

"If you don't hurry up and show me, I'll just come in there again and I don't think we want a repeat of the last shop." They'd been asked to leave on account of Hermione's screeches when Ginny had insensitively yanked the Mad Hatter top-hat off of her head, unaware that Hermione's curls had tangled themselves all along the decorations around the brim. She'd lost a few good chunks of hair in that shop and was hardly going to forget that pain anytime soon.

"No, no alright—but promise me you won't laugh."

"I won't promise that, Hermione, I don't want to lie to you."

"Ginny! You mustn't laugh!"

"Just get your ass out here and quit stalling!" Deaf to Hermione's urgent shushing noises, Ginny stood with her arms crossed as Hermione shyly stepped out from the cubicle. The door clicked closed quietly behind her as she allowed Ginny to take in her appearance.

"Hermione-"

"I know, it's stupid and cliché and overdone— I'll go change. I'm just running out of ideas here!"

"No, Hermione! This is it! Wow. Who knew you were hiding that body under them robes!" Ginny, beaming, rushed toward her and excitedly ran her hands over the tight material across Hermione's stomach.

"Oh sod off…Really, you like it?" Turning for herself in the full length mirror, she had to agree with Ginny, it was by far the best costume she'd had on that day, and the most understated.

"Even if anyone else comes as a cat, there's no way they'll be able to compete with this."

"Ginny, the party is at your childhood home who the hell else will be coming but us?" Ginny dodged the question quickly,

"Do you have the tag? I'll go ring it up while you change back, I've gotta meet Harry in ten or he'll kill me." Hermione pulled the little blue slip and her coin purse out of her bra and handed it to her friend, who made her way to the front of the shop, before Hermione did one more turn for herself in the mirror. Ginny _was_ right, the black leather of the jumpsuit hugged her curves to perfection and the zipper of the top could be easily adjusted to help her survive an evening both under Molly's judgement and any Weasley brother advances, but then could be pulled down if—if what? She almost caught herself wondering the question aloud. The sexiness really was for no one but herself, she supposed, but if a magical mystery man suddenly popped up at the burrow, at least then Hermione could yank the zipper down to her belly button and prove…? Well, prove something to someone eventually, she supposed.

"That looks quite nice, it's purrrfect in fact." The sardonic drawl had her freezing in front of the mirror. And life had just been beginning to feel worth living again. Oh god the costume had a bloody belly-button length zipper track but nothing to cover her face—why the bloody hell hadn't she opted for a masked costume instead? Lucius stood behind her in the mirror with his usual tight-lipped smirk that usually had her seeing red, instead the only red she could see was blooming across her chest and ears.

"It's for the party at the burrow…I'm a cat."

"Yes, I gathered that much. You look lovely, are you declawed or am I in danger?" The heat of his chest against her back suddenly felt threatening, the walls of the shop seemed to be closing in on them as she held his gaze in the mirror—curious at how dark his usually bright eyes appeared in the reflective glass.

"You're always in danger with me, Lucius, especially when I'm shopping with Ginny."

"Oh good, for a moment I was worried you were walking around like this in public without an escort." The man knew how to push her buttons. She was spinning towards him, her back to the mirror, before he'd even finished his full thought.

"I don't need an escort-" His unique cologne of mint and masculinity always sent her whirring a little, but the scent coupled with his fingers pushing her hair back behind her ear sent her whirring with jitters. _Bloody hell, do we always stand this close?_

"Now, Hermione, I must disagree…It looks lovely from behind, as well." Blue eyes obviously flittered from her eyes to the mirror behind her, where his eyes dropped slightly as he quite obviously checked out her bum. Playful annoyance had her slapping his hands way from her flushed face, even as she struggled to stifle a giggle.

"Why thank you…So, will you be dressing up?" She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and was rather surprised when his eyes dragged slowly from her mouth up to her eyes. As if he had been reading her lips. Or staring at them. But there was no way Lucius Malfoy was staring at her lips. Was there? She was breathless suddenly, anxious to change out of the tight material but not wanting to move from her position so close to his broad chest.

"We don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters at the mansion, it would be rather silly of me to dress up for just the house elves to see."

"It's not my party, or I'd invite you."

"I hope if it was your party, I would have been invited by now." With a joking shove shot at his chest, Malfoy was forced backwards. Large hands rubbed over the spot where she had shoved, as if she could actually hurt him.

"You do know you have another two weeks before your costume will come in handy, don't you?" He taunted, hands still overdramatically rubbing his chest.

"Hermione has never liked to procrastinate. Hey Lucius, what're you doing here?" Hermione stiffened at the familairty behind Ginny's words. Lucius had been well-behaved and kindly tempered at all of the secret meetings, but Ginny of all people had a reason to begrudge him her favor and kindness. Lucius looked equally as taken aback as Hermione felt, but years of manner training in the upper class meant he was quick to make a speedy recovery.

"Oh I wandered in after I saw a very familiar head of curls waltzing through the Alley. Are you searching for a costume as well, Miss Weasley?" Hermione wished she could paint Ginny in that moment: a cat costume slung over one arm, fiery hair toppled upon her bed in a haphazard bun, engagement ring completely forgotten as a hot blush burned up her cheeks through the tips of her ears while she corrected,

"Oh, call me Ginny, please." For some reason, anger burned the tips of Hermione's fingers in a way reminiscent of how they'd felt moments before she'd slapped Draco all those years ago.

"Ginny, then." Lucius winked and Ginny was closer to a shade of purple than pink with her violent blush. "Are you shopping for a costume for Halloween as well, Ginny?"

"No, I've got mine already…Red Riding Hood. Actually, it's for a party at the burrow, Lucius—you should come!" Hermione's jaw nearly dropped to the floor at Ginny's eager invitation. Lucius' shock was of a different sort, he was more pleased than Hermione had ever seen him,

"I would be positively delighted! Thank you, Ginny! Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?"

"No, no of course not! We'll be thrilled to have you."

"Ah, now Ginny who said anything about having me? I only agreed to be in attendance, and you're nearly a married woman." He wagged a haughty finger in her direction and Hermione felt as if the very floor beneath her feet was slipping away. _What the bloody hell was he doing and why in Merlin's name was Ginny giggling away like that?_

"You're terrible, Lucius! The celebrations start at eight, I do so hope you'll make it." It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrows in a very Malfoy-esque manner,

"Oh do you _so_ hope so?" Ginny's headed snapped to the side as she seemed to remember Hermione even existed on the planet, let alone was standing a mere two feet away.

"Yes, I do. My parents will be pleased your coming, Lucius, my father can't speak highly enough of the work you've been conducting as of late." Hermione realized she must have been dreaming.

"Oh, you're too kind. I will see you at eight sharp on Halloween, Miss Weasley."

"Ginny." Her correction was accompanied with batting eyelashes, much to Lucius' glee.

"Yes, Ginny, thank you. I hope you've been enjoying your shopping trip, I will see you then. Good day, Hermione." For the first time since Ginny had entered the small changing area of the shop did Lucius meet Hermione's gaze and his eyes were full of mirth that could only have been doubled by the dumbfounded look she was sure she sported. Stiff as a board she managed to nod,

"Bye, Lucius see you later." He'd nearly made it to the door when he turned around with an elegant spin of his robes, to quip,

"We're still on for supper tonight, right?" The indignant smirk that she held severely mixed feelings about was back and she wished her heart would stop right there as Ginny's hand shot out to clench her forearm in a grip of death.

"Yes, of course."

"So when were you going to tell me you were having dinner with the dishy Malfoy, or was I just never going to know about it?"

"When were you going to tell me you found Lucius _dishy_ , or was I just never going to know that?" They sat sprawled across Hermione's bed in their pajamas with a pizza box open in between them and drying zit cream applied to their faces. Crookshanks had longed since given up on attempting to walk across the pizza and left the two women to gossip in bed without his presence. Ginny's loud laugh was half dog-bark and half human, Hermione positively loved it, especially when her dry honesty was the source of it.

"Oh come on, Hermione. Any woman with a pulse would find him fit. Especially now that he's making efforts to reform himself, he's a classic ironic hero."

Ginny was picking the pepperoni off the pizza and eating them one by one with gratuitous finger-licking following each bite; whenever Hermione ordered pizza for them she made a show of complaining about how amazing muggle food was and how obviously the wizarding community was missing out and half-bloods had it all right with a foot in each world, this pleased Hermione too.

"Byronic hero, but I suppose you're right."

"Course I am…So you admit it then?" Hermione caught her gaze out of the corner of her eye, too comfortably stuffed against the pillows to turn her head anymore.

"Admit what?"

"That you find Lucius dishy, fit, sexy?" Hermione closed her eyes and considered it for a moment. There wasn't much to consider, not really, it was obvious that her physical reactions could only be categorized as attraction to him. Her heart sped when he was near, her palms sweated when he laughed at her jokes, she had to pinch her nails into said sweaty palms to keep from reaching for his elegant fingers when they walked together on the streets, he made her smile easier than anyone had done so in her life—but those, of course, were just aspects of attraction. There was no crime in being attracted to Lucius Malfoy, was there? Ginny has to be right anyways, what would not be attracted to him? His crystal eyes, his smooth skin over razor cheekbones, his thin lips and the tongue that slipped over the bottom one regularly, his soft hair, the way he looked in nothing but a white button up was criminal—he was a fine male specimen. A blush had risen across her entire body as she laid thinking of him, of the way he haughtily tipped his head back when he laughed or the way his bright eyes caught hers when he was pleased with something she had said.

"Hermione?" Ginny's voice pervaded the fantasy of Lucius' fingers entwined with hers, she imagined them smooth but with a firmness that spoke of past callouses from the dirty work he could not deny doing.

"Hm?"

"Do you find him dishy or what?" Ginny's voice sounded as sleepy as Hermione felt. Her mind spun with thoughts of Lucius' long fingers as she failed to reopen her eyes, the heat of the comforter with the softness of the pillows had entrapped her in a comfy cocoon.

"Yeah…go to sleep, Gin."

"Mm."

 _Dear Fallen One,_

 _We're still struggling with names on this end, do you have any suggestions? I eagerly await your response as I cannot help but assume your eloquence and wit transfer rather well to naming things. I cannot help but ponder what your child's name is, you did say you have a son didn't you? How old is he? Have you spoken to your wife as of late? I feel like a horribly self-centered cad whenever I think of how little I know of you when it feels as if you know every transition in my life over the past few months._

 _Halloween is just around the corner, as you know, and I cannot believe that the meetings have successfully managed to stay afoot for this long. I can never thank you enough for the inspiration and contacts you have provided since the very beginning of this process, you've been such a help I don't believe you can fathom it, not really. I've contacted Dr. Brontes upon your recommendation, he should be at the next meeting. Is he your therapist? Will that be awkward for you? If I do not speak to you before, I do hope you have a fun Halloween._

 _As usual I wish you would reveal your identity so we could talk normally, as civil friends ought to. Wouldn't you enjoy an invitation to a Halloween party I'm attending? (That's my shameful attempt at bribery, in some alternate universe I hope my company is enough to coerce you into exchanging and revealing your identity—although it does not have to be an alternate universe, it could be this one.)_

 _Happy Halloween hauntings,_

 _Jane_

 _Jane,_

 _Your persistence is one of my favorite qualities about you. Have I written, as of late, that I find you utterly charming and intriguing? The meetings have become the highlights of my week, not only for the excellent supportive community you have so selflessly created but for the chances I have to study your being. You are extraordinary, I hope no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. At least, I hope you have never let them succeed at such a task._

 _I do have a son, I would reveal his name but I fear that would be saying too much. I cannot attest to your compliments about my eloquence or naming skills. However, I may assert that my ex-wife and I named him creatively in a way that maintained the traditional standards of our families. My wife and I have not talked for quite a while now, she has fled to another country where some ancient members of her family still tread. My son followed a week after her, I cannot say that I blame him. Her family's mansion is quite beautiful there, we honeymooned not far from their home and at my young age I had been in awe of the culture and society. How naïve we are when we are young, though you are now around the age I was then and I do not find you naïve. Perhaps in the matters of the heart you are? I cannot say that I would know._

 _I hope you enjoy Dr. Brontes, he is a kind man. Do not fear for my comfort, it will not be awkward—Dr. Brontes is a true professional. Have you considered seeing him privately? He has done wonders for my mind._

 _I do so hope you will enjoy your Halloween festivities, I will be at a party myself. Unfortunately the exchange you offer goes wasted when I already have plans. Perhaps another time you will think of something of use to me._

 _Happy hauntings,_

 _The Fallen One_

Hermione read the letter as she waited for Lucius to arrive to the pastry shop that had slowly became their usual meeting place. It was on the far side of Diagon Alley and had popped up after the war had ended in one of the newly renovated store fronts. The pastries could have from France themselves they were so delectable, the tea seemed to constantly remain at the perfect temperature, and the quiet tinkling of classical music that underscored every conversation made it easily one of Hermione's favorite locations. She reread the letter twice more before Lucius arrived and draped his robes across the back of his chair and settled in across from her. Their conversation passed from the usual greetings into their current readings before he circled back to the letter from her "mysterious pen pal," as Lucius called him.

"So do you think you'll ever meet him?" He asked after reading the letter slowly, fingers tracing over the delicate parchment with interest.

"I'm not sure, I hope so."

"Do you have feelings for him?" Blue eyes met hers over the top of the paper and she felt suddenly very small. Did she?

"How could I have feelings for someone I've never met?" Lucius smiled,

"The same way you cannot have feelings for someone you have met. Like me, for instance." His gaze returned to the letter with great interest and Hermione felt her heart pick up pace at his words.

"I beg your pardon?" He seemed surprised that she had any questions regarding his statement and floundered wonderfully for a moment before clarifying,

"I simply mean that now knowing him does not make any feelings you have towards him invalid. I believe it works both ways, you don't know him but you have feelings toward him whereas you do know me and you don't have feelings toward me—right?" There was a hidden agenda to his question, Hermione knew, but she couldn't figure out exactly what he was getting at. The slightest smirk at the corner of his thin lips was the cause of her confusion, what was he getting at?

"It would be ridiculous of me to have romantic feelings toward a man I've never met. How could I have feelings for someone without knowing their full self?" A still gaze met her from across the table, complete and total stillness. She feared there was something wrong but upon her inquisitiveness he denied any disturbance.

"I think I'll just have a tea." He decided as he handed her the parchment back, eyes still hooked to hers as she reached out to take his offering.

"You're sure you're quite well? You look awfully pale all of a sudden."

"I'm fine, nothing a good cup won't be able to fix. I'll go order, do you want one as well?" He rose without awaiting her answer and headed to the front counter with a lengthy strut. Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she watched him in line, his broad shoulders blocking the sight of the view patrons in front of him. His dark button down and pants looked rather out of place amongst the doilies and pastel decorations of the shop. When he glanced back at her though from across the crowded shop she couldn't help but smile in encouragement. She'd been fifteen when she had read Victor Hugo's _Les Miserables_ and had been quite confounded over the man's description of Marius. "His smile corrected the severity of his face, as a whole" Hugo had written about the romantic lead and there had been no one in her life that she had been able to truly apply the thought to but as Lucius Malfoy smiled at her from across the shop and she felt her heart flutter she found herself suddenly curious as to how Lucius could be compared to a Marius. But there was no denying it, that smile could correct the severity of any face, and for that matter, any heart.

 **I hope you'll tell me what you think so far! Halloween party is coming up soon!**


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